A Woman's Pains Are Never Done_Ariel; Guardian Half-Angel_WHEN THE CICADAS SING_Bot
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A Woman's Pains Are Never Done
Sept 1838: 16 Marchmont Road"And right through here are the sleeping quarters Mr and Mrs McIntyre. You'll find it's quite spacious, and there's plenty storage for clothes and other bits and bobs," said the scruffy landlord before tagging on over-enthusiastically, "my favourite part has to be the view. Do take a gander it's just spectacular! Not many flats are blessed with such a view of this wonderful locale of ours, www.onedoor.ccand at this price!""Oh, it is lovely isn't it John?" Eilidh gestured vaguely at the landscape of undulous dark greens, blue sky softened with feathery whisps of cloud, and that mo...
Ariel; Guardian Half-Angel
Alone, Ariel sat in the center of the king-sized bed, holding her knees to her chest, and staring at the closed cabinet across from her in the small hotel room. There was a decent-sized television on the other side of those closed cabinet doors but the electricity in the hotel had gone out at least three weeks ago, rendering it useless. Which meant the air conditioning didn’t work either and that meant something on the coast of California, on the outskirts of Los Angeles.Ariel didn’t know what day it was or how long it had been since she’d actually left that hotel room. Not only was it hard t...
WHEN THE CICADAS SING
Calendula loved trees, which is why she came to Sandhurst as a stranger that spring. Unknown to her, strangers weren’t generally welcome in Sandhurst, except when the cicadas sang, but Calendula knew nothing of this.Sandhurst was a small town where everyone knew everyone else and could trace their lineage through the living memories and stories of elders back and back. Mostly the townsfolk accepted each other’s foibles and quirks and existed peacefully together generation after generation. The town wasn’t known for much except its trees. The trees were grand and beautiful such as chestnuts, el...
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“What’s her name, Jenny?” That’s the first thing I hear when I get out of the box. I open my eyes. Blink. I’m lying on a wooden floor. There’s a box to the right of me and in front of me, blocking all vision of the room, is a woman and a child. The woman has dark brown hair that’s braided down her back. The tips are dyed purple, the same color as her eyes. The child looks about four, with the same dark hair but hers is wavy. Of course, I wouldn’t know if the woman’s was wavy too unless she undid her braid.“Not she,” says the child.“Oh, is it a he?”The child, Jenny, I suppose, nods. “Greetings,...