A Future Ghost_The Witch’s Horse_Stella's ghostly mediators_Banned Practice
Catalog Guide:
A Future Ghost
Dear Past Self,There is a ghost in your life, or more accurately my current life, which is just your future life, and I’m going to try and give you all the instructions I can to keep it out. To keep this ghost from coming in the first place. I don’t know where it came from, so I’ve been carefully compiling a list of all the maybe-ghosts who would want to haunt me, and I think if you are able to follow my instructions,www.onedoor.cc there will be no future ghost. There is a graveyard in the middle of the New Mexico desert where grandma is buried. Don’t worry- grandma isn’t the ghost- I would know if it was h...
The Witch’s Horse
I approached the stallion from the side to avoid surprising him. Last time I moved too fast he whirled to face me and charged a few steps in my direction. We were both grieving and missed Ebb. I was lost because I was nowhere near done with my studies when she died. He was lost because they had built a living language between them and now it was gone. It had been made of breath, magic, movement and touch, beautiful things. I had four years as Ebb’s student. The stallion, Gravity, had twenty. Now we had inherited one another in a clumsy inversion. I was the new guardian for a magically educate...
Stella's ghostly mediators
Somewhere in a small room in a big city, a little woman with big problems lay on her bed. She had rented the room under a false name. Ms. Green, the landlady, had her doubts when she registered herself as Ms. Stone on the boarding house register. There was a set rule in the guest house; no visitors were ever allowed in the rooms. She could receive visitors in the drawing-room until ten PM at the latest when Ms. Green went to bed and thought it completely natural that all her guests did so too. Despite Mrs. green's rules, there was a visitor in Stella's room, or rather Mrs. Stone's room. The li...
Banned Practice
TW: SwearingMichael glared across the bar at Diana. This was his night, the big gig. She wasn’t going to ruin it for him. “That the one who keeps calling the cops on you?” Asked Dennis, the guitarist in the band. Dennis flicked away the black, curly locks that made him look like a glam rock throwback. “She’s hot.” He sipped a beer, two fingers and a thumb on the neck of the bottle as if he was a prim and proper gentleman sipping tea from fine porcelain. “She’s a pain in the ass. Every time I get in the zone she starts banging on the wall or the door, or it’s the cops. I k...