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Bones come undone at the Magician’s touch. Wind themselves up like silver and dance into the air. Strung like copper wire. Their fire a shimmering, living thing.
She’s all smiles for the crowd.
And, of course, they are never her bones. That’s not the trick.
The trick is to keep the audience from noticing how much lighter they all feel. They’ll notice a twinge, an emptiness later, deep in the night, when the carnival is done and home and the softness of white-sheeted beds have called. When sweet-souled revenants beckon, and the witching hour is but a memory.
Everyone gives something for the magic. That’s how it works. You are not spectator. Your are participant. Always.
Excerpt from the Sunburst Award-nominated short story, “Until There is Only Hunger,” which appeared in Jaym Gates & Monica Valentinelli’s Upside Down: Inverted Tropes in Storytelling anthology.
|What I Write||
Weird fiction. Fabulism. Women who walk as mountains. The end (and rebirth) of the world. Ghosts. QPOC everywhere. You know, all the good stuff in life.
Got the second book in a series of novels (Quill & Blade series: R.E.D. and B.P.R.D. meets A Dead Man in Deptford, featuring QWOC) to work on and maybe finish over the summer. It’s going to be a busy summer of freelance work, so we’ll see.
You do you. I’m easy.