Urban Fantasy · Writing

XXI.

"May I hold you, dearling?" The apple-blossom-haired dryad held out her arms gently. The flushed little girl hesitated for a moment before nodding and leaning from her mother's embrace that of the dryad in the white lab coat. Gladia held the child tenderly and laid a hand on her arm, skin to skin. "Oh, you… Continue reading XXI.

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Urban Fantasy · Writing

XX.

There was a great crash, tumble, and tangle of limbs and bicycle parts. Florence leaped up from her seat on her favorite bench under her favorite tree and dashed into the fray and toward the children lying on the pavement. Thankfully, they had worn their helmets, even if Gary already had a particularly hard head.… Continue reading XX.