In the evening, there is no movement on the manor grounds, only a soft wind in the leaves of the great lindens and oaks under which I walk. The main building glows in the distance with candle-white pillars, guarded by carved stone lions and locked doors. I step inside. My…

Beneath the roots of the honeyglow tree, a small creature dreams. Not the cold, empty sleep of winter, only a nap on a warm autumn day. His bed, a nest of moss and grass, has been fortified with yellow leaves, and there he lies, curled like a vine, hugging his…

The house is quiet as you enter, so much quieter than last year when it was filled with laughter and joy and the scent of home-baked gingerbread. …

Don’t cry, love. Enough tears have watered the flowers on my grave. It pleases me to see you, but isn’t there somewhere else you’d rather be on Valentine’s Day? It’s been two years since the accident. A long time to linger and watch you do the same. You stand in…

A flash fiction story — I am born without sight. My first sensations of the world consist only of what I sense with my remaining four: the warmth of my mother and twin brother, the faint, lingering smell of strange foods on her breath, the creamy, almost nutty-sweet taste of mother’s milk, and the soft…

A short story (including a traditional Scandinavian gingerbread cookie recipe) — Lit Up’s Christmas Event It’s September, and I’m making gingerbread cookies in my kitchen. The piece of lined paper floats from my cookbook as soon as I crack open the back cover. I unfold it and smooth it out…