It’s 7:07 pm. The house is still. The forest is quiet. But Lucia is about to break a rule.
The storm is patient
Pets howl at the silence
The lights flicker out…
Blows with such condescension
A demon ate my muse
The Memorist looked tired; exhausted even. It was an exhausting thing she did for people, taking on their memories.
(Based on Grimms’ Sleeping Beauty) It had been only a single gasp of air that alerted her to the trouble.
You are a snowflake
Jagged edges, crystalline
Furtive in my grip.
(A re-imagining of Grimm’s Rapunzel) It began with a peculiar blossom. The winter had been long and frigid and barren, but for a tiny blossoming plant outside her window.
Smile, sucralose sweet; Assaultingly artificial. Eyes, whispering half truths in the dark. Mouth, filled to the brim; Spilling over with things said and not said. Glare as sharp as knives. Tongue spoiling into venom. Behind that smile, A sugary death awaits.