As twilight welled out of the day, his music welled out of the night. It played through her hair, her breath, and wound windingly around her heart… luring her near, inviting her in… Continuing the fairy tale which I started…
As twilight welled out of the day, his music welled out of the night. It played through her hair, her breath, and wound windingly around her heart… luring her near, inviting her in… Continuing the fairy tale which I started…
His skeleton hands scraped disturbingly pleasantly across her cheek, and scraped through her hair, and his rough-tongued words scraped near her ear: “I will always find you.” Continuing the fairy tale which I started in Czech, which veers like a…
This luckless story got narrated by yours truly. What parts of the narration do you like? Don’t be mean! I am a fragile person. If you want to read it, the text is below! (The story is an old one,…
By what cruel mimicry of ‘love’ should I—a man reduced to a thing which cannot touch you with softness, cannot kiss you with—what right have I to a woman like you? You of passion and flesh, of potential and ardent,…
“You loved ravens. You fed them from our bedroom window every eve, with the sunset around you like a blazing stage as you leaned out in your gauzy night things, your hair unbound, shimmering in the breeze…” His gaze misted…
“She’s calling for you, you little bastard!” one of the hooded figures bellowed toward the castle. The castle’s double doors crashed open. Young Darian stepped out onto the stair landing, wearing buckled black boots, torn trousers, and a billowing white…
Abruptly, he slowed their descent to a scant and floating sway, as if they were leaves, adrift and weightless, sweeping side to side and spinning in an aerial dance, and if she’d been able to ignore the suffocating knowledge of…
After FOREVER, I’m continuing the fairy tale that I found which I wrote in Czech and started translating into English in short bits just for fun! If you want to start from the beginning, the first part is here: The…
He arrived in the middle of the night, banging on their door in the midst of a raging storm. Windy gusts lashed the windows, tree branches scraping the panes. It brought her and her parents barefoot down the creaking stairs,…

Click here to read and download (for free) the story of a cursed girl who cannot die and finds a bruised boy under her roses every day...
When I was twenty-two, I ran away to Prague, where I now sing to my black cat (who collects dustballs in her whiskers), eat chocolate for breakfast, and have lemon tarts every Thursday.