FEED THE UKTENA by Sam Lauren

I didn't tell him it's an old legend or that I stopped
believing in Uktena when I was 12. I held my
father's hand and promised to do the impossible...

On my father's deathbed, he could not remember which of the crying women around him was his wife or what his own name was, but he knew he had hidden a diamond in a cave. He clasped my hand and urged me to find it.

“You must feed the Uktena,” he said. “It is time.”

The room was dark, lit only by candles and half hidden phone screens. My sister’s bloodshot eyes glanced at me across the bed. My girlfriend clasped my hand tighter, the way she does when dad calls me by his dead brother’s name. Mother’s silent stream of tears became a babbling brook.

My father didn't notice any of this. He made everyone else leave, so “they won't be burdened by this secret,” and he told me where to find the diamond of Uktena.

“You must feed it tonight,” he said. “If you do not he will escape and feed on your family.”

I didn't tell him it's an old legend, or that I stopped believing in Uktena when I was 12. I held my father's thin, leathery hand and promised to do the impossible.

“Go,” he said. “Now. Use the bow I have stored in the cave. Bring the bearskin back with you so I can lay on it as I die, and be soothed by memories of my youth.”

My heart tightened a bit at these words. I had intended to retreat to the living room with the rest of the family and pretend I'd sought out this diamond. I didn't believe it existed. But what if there really was a bearskin rug hidden in a cave out there, somewhere? I couldn't refuse my father his dying wish.

I brought my girlfriend with on my trek into the woods.

Even with the sorrow weighing on my soul, it was a bit romantic. A slight breeze cooled the air and coaxed the leaves into a ruffled song. It was so quiet- that time of night when even the bugs and bullfrogs are asleep.

The full moon lit our way. Its silver rays gave Andrea’s raven hair a shine that we would never have seen in the daylight.

I smiled. Ironic, that thoughts like that are exactly what started the Uktena myth. The sun was jealous of our people's love for the moon so she tried to kill us. We sent Uktena to kill her.

“Do you know the myth of Uktena?” I asked.

Andrea shook her head.

“He's a giant snake, as big as a tree, with horns on his head. He's fueled by rage.”

She laughed. “So I'll get to see him in the cave? What do you feed a snake that big?”

The trees grew thicker there, darker. Every snap of a twig had me glancing over my shoulder in search of a menacing creature or a trickster squirrel. The color of the forest was lost to shades of black and grey yet it had never looked so beautiful. Nor intimidating.

I led Andrea to the creek and then we left the path to follow the water, just as my father had described. “Blood,” I said.  

Her laugh was shorter, and muffled by uneasiness.

“It’s just a story,” I said. “There's no snake there. Even in the story, there isn't really. Just his soul.”

“What's the story?”

The creek behind us made a bubbling, mucky sound and we both flinched. A spooked frog diving in, maybe.

“The sun was jealous of the moon so she began poisoning us with her rays. We used the magic of the Little Ones to turn men into snakes- Rattlesnake and Uktena.”

“Little Ones?”

“Fairies.”

“Oh.”

She glanced around as if she thought she would spy one watching from the thicket. That's not how it works though. They are always spying on us, they are everywhere, and vicious; but we cannot see them unless they want us to. Their reasons are usually malicious.

“Anyway, we sent Uktena to kill the sun. But the rattlesnake got there first and killed the sun’s daughter. Which worked, because the sun retreated in sorrow and wasn't poisoning us anymore.”

We reached the cave. Andrea almost walked past it, so hidden was its entrance, but I recognized my father's hunting mark scratched into the rock.

“Here,” I said.

We both stared down at an opening maybe a foot high and twice as wide, that slanted into the ground. “I thought you meant a regular cave,” she said.

“That wouldn't be safe.”

“This isn't safe! We can't go in there, there could be animals living in there.”

“I'll go first.”

Andrea protested, looking around at the woods. It feels closer when you are scared. Like it wants to wrap around you in a strangling hug. I had learned to embrace it but she had not.

“I'll be quick,” I said. “I just need to grab the bearskin.”

I army crawled down the short slope until the stone above me stretched out into a ceiling I could stand under. The room was lit by the soft blue glow of a diamond, perched on an altar of rocks opposite the entrance. The bearskin covered an earthen floor. My father's bow leaned against a wall.

Andrea followed me in. She caught her breath with a whoa that I felt echo in my heart.  

“Is that a diamond?”

She moved forward to touch it but I stayed her hand. “Don't. It will kill you.”

“What?” She looked more confused than frightened.

I winked at her. “That's what the legend says.”

“Oh. Tell me the rest. Did you know this was here?”

We sat cross-legged on the bearskin and I told her the tale of Uktena, just like my father had done for me. Andrea was no child but the story has been scaring warriors for centuries. It made the cave seem smaller. It made me feel like we were alone in the world, us and the captured soul of Uktena.

But that was silly. It's just a myth.

“Rattlesnake got all the glory. Uktena was furious. He killed Rattlesnake’s family, one by one, to punish the warrior inside the snake.

“Next he killed other members of the tribe that had praised Rattlesnake. He kept killing innocent people, and we tried to stop him but the Little Ones had made him nearly invincible so that he could fight the sun.

“He had one weakness- the 7th spot on his back. Behind it is his heart. After many years, a brave warrior was able to take down Uktena by shooting him in the heart. He took the heart, a blue diamond, out of Uktena’s body and hid it in a cave so that the spirit of Uktena would not be able to escape and return to his body.”

Andrea’s eyes widened. “This is Uktena’s heart?”

“Probably not the original Uktena. He split his soul to make children, and they are said to still roam the land.”

The diamond’s glow caught in her eyes. I had never seen a rock emit light like that, even a precious one. The room felt alive. It was an unpleasant sensation, like walking to the kitchen in the dark at night. You tell yourself you are alone but you wonder if someone is lurking behind the next wall, waiting for you.

“The heart must be fed the blood of small game every week, and large game twice a year. If it is not fed it escapes the cave and searches for its body. It kills the family of the warrior. Then their families, then their friends.”

My father's feet had worn a path across the bearskin to the small stone on its stand. I could imagine him, he who had held onto his strength until the very end, taking the bow out into the woods and stalking a deer to feed our family. He'd taught me how to be patient, how to steady the arrow. Where to aim.  

But bringing his catch here, to smear blood across the alleged heart of Uktena?

“I can't believe he did this, week after week,” I said. “It's just an old story.”

The diamond pulsed on its altar.

Andrea jumped. “Is it supposed to do that?”

“I don't know, I don't think diamonds are supposed to glow at all.”

It pulsed again. And again. The beats came quicker until they were as steady as my own racing heart.

Andrea grasped my arm and we both struggled to stand. I picked up the bearskin rug and threw it over my shoulder. “I think we should go.”

She grabbed the bow and its small quiver of arrows. “I think you should feed it.”

Sam Lauren is a journalist and short story writer from Northwest Indiana. Her works include horror and fantasy published by Zoetic Press, Cracked Flash, and Everyday Fiction.

Cover: Amanda Bergloff

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WISHING WELL by Sonni de Soto

She looked over the edge of the cracked, old wishing well.
It certainly didn't look magical...

I wish I knew the good of wishing.

- Henry S. Leigh

Sweat dripped down Lily’s knees, pooling in the dampening lace of her socks, as she looked over the edge of the moss-covered, cracked, old wishing well. It certainly didn’t look magical. Nothing at all like the pretty, sparkling fairies in her picture books. Not even like the wizened, old gnomes her grandmother staggered about her front lawn.

The well looked dirty. Lily sniffed and crinkled her nose. And it smelled sour.

“Go ahead,” her father urged, holding her mother’s hand and smiling indulgently at Lily. “Close your eyes, make a wish, and the well will make it come true.” He gazed at his wife in her pretty Sunday clothes, her wide-brimmed hat wilting in the humid heat, and whispered against her cheek, “It did for me.” Her mother giggled.

Lily sighed.

Truth be told, she wished her father wouldn’t make her do this. She pouted and looked over the edge again, peering deeper into the dark. She thought that she could hear splashing down there, see shadows swimming about. She shivered and wondered what kind creature would live in such a dark, dank hole.

It would have a tail, she decided, and fins—scaly and razor-sharp. Its slick, slimy body would flick quick and impatient around the well’s rounded walls, waiting. But for what? she wondered. Was it trapped in the crumbling stone or just hiding, safe in the cool shelter of shadows, out of the grey-skied humidity that held her hostage in this heavy anticipation she begged would break?

Lily looked at the quarter her father gave her, lying flat and shiny with promise in her palm. Lily thought about the gumball she could buy with it. Thought about the handful of chocolates whose candy-coated shells would melt bright dots of color all over her hand in the sweltering heat.

“Having trouble thinking of a wish?” her mother asked her gently, coming to stand beside her, a hand soothing circles across Lily’s back. “Make one quick, then we’ll have lunch, okay?”

Lily wanted to go home. Wanted to leave this place. Now.

So screwing up her courage, she reached her hand shakily out over the old, ruined brick ledge. Holding her breath and squinting her eyes, she dangled the coin pinched between her fingers over the well.

Suddenly, she snatched it back, clutching the coin to her chest.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” her father asked.

She shook her head, not knowing what to say. She could hear it thrashing—that thing inside the well—could hear its excited pants. It had claws, she knew as she heard those sharp points scratch at stone. And teeth that chomped with impatient hunger. It was small—even smaller than Lily and she was just barely taller than her father’s hip—but it would eat her, gobble her up and spit out marrowless bones. She knew this unquestioningly, without quite knowing how she did.

Lily pouted, her lower lip stiff and stubborn. She didn’t like this place and couldn’t understand why her parents would bring her here. She wanted to go home. Right now. So thinking of the lunch—turkey or chicken salad, maybe even a cookie—that her mother would make, she shut her eyes and tossed the coin in.

In shiny, new dress shoes, wet and dirty from the dewy grass, Lily waited at the edge for her quarter’s splash. She inhaled sharply, holding her breath tightly as she strained to hear any sound coming from the well’s undisturbed water, but all she heard was the slippery slide of something swimming below.

She leaned in and listened, worrying her lip, but still heard nothing. She stepped back, her shoes squishing in the rain-soaked ground as she bit her nails nervously.

It had her coin.

It had her wish.

Lily tried hard not to imagine what the creature would do with it. Whether the thing would nibble it, gnaw at it, or just swallow it whole. Would her wish slide through the creature’s insides or sit sad in its belly forever?

“What did you wish for?” Her mother led Lily back to the car in the little parking lot between the park and the church.

Lily blinked up at her mother, her mind still worrying beside the well. “I,” she started with a frown, “didn’t wish for anything.” She shivered, despite the heat, as the grey skies darkened, hiding any trace of the summer sun, and the weight of the weather’s wait seemed to close in.

Unruffled, her father playfully mussed her hair, the way he did when she’d amused him. “That’s okay,” he told her as he lifted her up before buckling her in the backseat, the safety belt tight and scratchy under her chin. “You don’t have to tell us.”

As her father started the car with a quiet roar, Lily turned at a strange swishing sound coming from somewhere behind the car.

No, not behind the car. Beneath it.

Her gaze followed the sound as something scraped and sunk into the crunching metal. Her eyes widened as she heard it crawl and claw up the side of the car, its tail smacking against the side like a storm roiling in the distance.

Squirming against the seat belt as she watched fat raindrops strike her window, Lily wondered, when one wishes for nothing, what exactly do they get?

Sonni de Soto is a queer storyteller of color, who believes the best thing about speculative stories are their ability to, as G.K. Chesterton said, make the strange seem settled and the settled strange. de Soto has had the privilege of publishing novels and stories with Albedo One Magazine, Cleis Press, Stupid Fish Productions, and many others. An escape artist at heart, de Soto also enjoys consuming stories of all kinds and cosplaying the fictional loves of her life.  To find more from her, please visit amazon.com/author/sonnidesoto and sonnidesoto.blogspot.com.

Cover: Amanda Bergloff

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FAEGOTTEN

DAUGHTERS OF AIRITECH by I. E. Kneverday

Every Samhain, the daughters of Airitech
would slip into their wolfskins
and ascend to the surface-world...

The creature Airitech had died at the hands of the humanfolk twice before and was of no mind to die a third time. A bloody inconvenience, dying was. And given the violent tendencies of the humanfolk, it could be a most gruesome affair as well.

But Airitech had to eat, lest he died for a third time of starvation. And for that reason, and perhaps that reason alone, Airitech was glad to have the company of his three daughters.

Following Airitech’s retirement, his daughters, whom he had never bothered to name, had graciously inherited and upheld their father’s harvest-time traditions. Every Samhain, when travel between worlds became possible, the daughters of Airitech would slip into their wolfskins, ascend to the surface-world, and ravage the plains of Connacht, collecting the plumpest lambs and fattest hares and juiciest boars to bring back to old Airitech.

In the years that followed, the humanfolk grew more defensive of their lands and their resources.

What’s more, they grew smarter. They began devising a strategy for keeping the daughters of Airitech, with their snarling jaws and slashing claws, at bay.

One year, the humanfolk prepared for Samhain by lining the streets of their villages with skulls. Skulls with gnarled teeth and sunken noses and coal-black eye-sockets. The daughters of Airitech had been frightened at first, but upon inspecting the skulls more closely, they came to see the truth: The “skulls” had been carved from turnips. And so, the daughters were no longer afraid. Nor were they deterred in their carnivorous task.

A year later, the humanfolk added a new, more fearsome weapon to their arsenal and employed it in their annual war against the daughters. When the daughters emerged from their cave that Samhain, they were promptly blinded by the light of a hundred tiny suns, which the humanfolk called “bonfires.” The bonfires hissed and crackled and belched thick blankets of smoke, making it impossible for the daughters to see their surroundings. And so, the daughters of Airitech learned to hunt by scent instead of sight. It took some getting used to, but they soon became masters of the craft.

“Be careful up there,” Airitech barked as his daughters once again slipped into their wolfskins. They were preparing for yet another Samhain. Another raid. Another harvest.

“Remember,” he continued, “All of our lives hang in the balance.”

“Yes, father, we know,’ the daughters of Airitech growled in unison, the three distinct notes of their voices forming a dissonant chord.

“And whatever you do, never trust the humanfolk. I learned that the hard way. Twice.”

“Yes, father, we know,’ the daughters of Airitech growled again. And then they were off, scampering up out of the cave and crossing over into the surface-world.

Upon reaching the ringforts and earthworks of Rathcroghan, which rested near the entrance of their cave, the daughters were immediately struck by the darkness. There were no bonfires. And no turnip-skulls lining the roads, for that matter. The daughters howled in delight.

“This Samhain harvest will be a breeze,” they thought to themselves, before stalking off into the night, six yellow eyes reflecting the cold autumn moonlight.

Then, they heard it.

A most beautiful sound.

The most beautiful sound.

It was a melody. A melody so sweet and so pure that it blunted the murderous instincts of the daughters of Airitech. With their tails wagging and tongues lolling and ears twitching, the daughters sought out the source of the music. Within minutes, they had found it.

A man, a human man, was sitting on a tree stump, playing a golden harp. A few sniffs of the air confirmed that he was alone.

“Ah, I see that my maidens have arrived,” the man declared upon seeing the three sisters. He spoke without ceasing his rhythmic, delicate, hypnotic plucking of the harp’s silver strings.

“Allow me to introduce myself. I am Cas Corach. And what might your names be?”

“We are the daughters of Airitech,” the daughters of Airitech replied.

“Yes, of course. But what are your individual names? You see, if you tell me, I will be able to sing of you in my songs.”

“We do not have individual names,” the daughters growled, the realization now distracting them from their enjoyment of the music.

They bared their teeth.

“And in truth, we have important business to which we must attend. I trust you will not distract us any further.”

Cras Corach wiped a rivulet of nervous sweat from his brow.

“My dear maidens, let me be honest with you. I am, in fact, here for that precise purpose. To distract you.”

The daughters opened their jaws.

“Wait!” Cras Corach shouted, putting aside his harp. “For you have only heard half of my explanation. You see, the true and fair ruler of this land, Caílte mac Rónáin, has hired to me play for you this night, while you await the deliverance of your tribute.”

“Our tribute?” the daughters echoed.

“Indeed. Caílte mac Rónáin has proposed that in exchange for your pacifism on this night, we shall deliver to you, right here, on this very spot, a great offering. Our plumpest lambs. Our fattest hares. Our juiciest boars. All of it, yours.”

As the daughters of Airitech considered this proposal, Cras Corach resumed his playing, and the intoxicating melodies of his golden harp with the silver strings once again flooded the daughter’s pointed ears.

“Just sit here awhile and listen,” Cas Corach spoke in a soothing tone, “and all that you desire will be delivered to you. Enough food to last a century. Hark, are those not the sounds of pounding hooves and rolling wheels in the distance? Surely, those must be the shepherds and the villagers, on their way here now with their livestock and their carts full of wares.”

Cas Corach strummed his harp more gently, and, to their amazement, the daughters of Airitech were indeed able to hear the sounds that he described, lending credence to his story. So, the daughters sat. And they waited. And they listened. And before long, they collapsed into a heap at Cas Corach’s feet, their bellies rising and falling in rhythm with the music.

When the once-distant sounds of pounding hooves and rolling wheels had grown into a raucous din, Cas Corach spoke again, waking the daughters from their hypnotic slumber.

“My dear maidens, your tribute has all but arrived, and I fear our time together soon will end. It is such a shame, however…” and as he said this, he smiled, “that you did not get to hear my music with human ears. For only with human ears can the true depth and breadth of my music be explored.”

The daughters of Airitech looked to one another, their yellow eyes once again reflecting the cold moonlight. Then, moving in unison, they slipped out of their wolfskins.

Cas Corach had been correct. Once in human form, the daughters were able to experience the music in a different way. They were able to detect something that had been hidden from their ears before. A new dimensionality. An emotion. A sadness.

Unfortunately, these moments were fleeting.

In a single, swift motion, Cas Corach snatched away their wolfskins, and when the daughters of Airitech rose to give chase, they found themselves surrounded by an army.

So, the daughters realized, the pounding hooves had belonged not to livestock but to the stout, armored steeds of cavalrymen, while the rolling wheels had belonged not to the carts of villagers, but to the catapults of warriors.

One of these warriors stepped forward. A spear in his right hand.

The daughters huddled together.

“My name is Caílte mac Rónáin,” the man spoke. “Nephew of the great Fionn mac Cumhaill and the true and fair ruler of these lands. I sentence you devilish creatures to death.”

And with that, he thrust his spear.

The humanfolk buried the bodies, thus returning the daughters of Airitech to their father in the underworld.

I. E. Kneverday is an avid reader of Irish and Celtic mythology and a writer of short fiction. His work has been featured in publications and anthologies including Exoplanet Magazine and Drabbledark and is forthcoming in the Unearthed anthology from Altrix Books. His short story “Fromagegoria” won first place in Zeroflash’s flash fiction competition in July of 2018. Kneverday’s first book, The Woburn Chronicles, is available now on Amazon: http://amzn.to/2tLo5CL. Drop by www.Kneverday.com to learn more or come say hi on Twitter @kneverday.

Cover: Amanda Bergloff

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BEYOND THE GLASS SLIPPER

Ten Neglected Fairy Tales to Fall in Love With

IF THE BODY FITS by Julia Stilchen

If the body fits, wear it well.
We're like two yolks in a raven's egg...

The crackling of an incoming portal jolted Cinderella to her feet. The sky opened and spat out a creature. She gazed in horror and ducked her head, dropping low against the ground. Hands spread against dirt, she crawled toward a covering.

A streak of black whirled past her, sending her back in the opposite direction. It moved in blurs before taking down half a tree. Golden, amber and mahogany colored leaves burst into Autumn confetti. The creature tumbled into a pile of hay, slicing the air with an ear-piercing shrill.

Bewildered by the sound of its cry, Cinderella contemplated whether or not it had been a harpy or a mad imp passing through. On this side of the kingdom, such sightings were rare but weren’t unheard of.

It groaned as it struggled to free itself. Legs and arms protruded out. Crooked and broken. Snapping back into place. The creature crawled out and stood upright. Its long, dark tresses lifted away from its face. It was then Cinderella realized it hadn’t been a creature after all. A young woman. Dressed in fabric dotted with glinting black jewels. It shimmered against moonlight as though it had been spun directly from a glimmering night sky.

“Are you okay?” Cinderella asked in disbelief.

The woman lurched forward. She stretched her bones as if she had woken from a century-length slumber. She plucked straws from her hair and dress. “Ugh. Don’t you just hate when that happens?” She patted her head. “My hat!” Like a mad dog searching for its bone, she frantically dug into the pile of hay, tossing handfuls to the side.

A black object—scrunched into a flat circle—twitched on the ground. Cinderella pointed, keeping her distance in case she should retreat. “W-what’s that?”

“Hmm?” The woman spun on her heal. “My hat!” She scooped it up and blew into the opening, restoring its shape. Its tip expanded into a curved point. When she opened her palms, it floated up and positioned itself over her head.

Cinderella stood, mouth hung agape, eyes wide and unblinking.

“Come.” The woman gestured with her hand.

Cinderella hesitated yet something about the woman drew her forward.

“Closer, closer. I promise I’m not a vampire, you see?” The woman pulled back her lips, revealing porcelain-white canines.

Cinderella took another step forward.

“Yes. Closer still. Let me have a good look at you.”

Cinderella leaned her head back as the woman leaned hers forward. They stood face to face, staring deep into each other’s eyes.

Gazing into the woman’s eyes was like staring into the void. Dark as a bottomless well. Thick lashes—the length of sewing needles—batted at Cinderella as she circled around, clicking her tongue and scanning her body, absorbing every detail. “Yes, yes. You’ll do quite well.”

“Pardon?” asked Cinderella.

The woman grunted. Her arm shot straight out, palm facing the pile of hay. “Ivis, come forward.”

The hay stirred. A gnarled broomstick zipped out and flew into the woman’s open hand.

“I’ll turn you into a frog if you ever drop me like that again. Understand?” The broom trembled while nodding the tip of its head. The woman caressed its smooth surface. Its finely polished gloss caught the woman’s reflection. “There, there. I know. You’ll do better next time.”

“Who are you?” Cinderella asked.

From the shadow of her hat, the woman shot a sharp glance at Cinderella. She released the broom and it hovered by her side like a loyal pet. The corners of her mouth twitched from one side to the other before curling into a wicked grin. “I’m Graechel.” Her feet lifted off the ground as she twirled into a perfect curtsey.

“Are you… my Fairy Godmother?”

Graechel cackled. “Fairy Godmother? Ha! She’s in a bind at the moment. A binding spell that is.”

Cinderella gasped. Before she could react, Graechel had already gathered a pinch of magic dust from a small pouch at her waist. Ready in hand, she blew it into Cinderella’s face. The opalescent particles trickled over her, working into the corners of her eyes, stinging upon entry. Her nostrils tingled. Dark magic seeped down her throat in a prickly trail. She breathed in a wicked flavor. Bitter.

“Why?” She managed to say as her body grew stiff. Statuesque. A live doll.

“Sorry, Deary. Nothing personal. I was hired to spy on Prince Charming. You’d make a perfect host. A living disguise. Same height. Weight. Pure-hearted. No one would suspect a thing.” Graechel cackled.

Tears rolled down Cinderella’s cheeks. Her chest heaved ruggedly.

“Breathe, Deary. Can’t have you passing out on me. I assure you this will be almost painless with minor spurts of dizzying side effects. The bright side? You’ll attend the ball just as you desire. I’ll dress you up. And while I’ll be in control you’ll still retain awareness. If you be a good puppet I’ll throw in the prince for you in the end.”

Cinderella’s breathing grew profuse.

Graechel gave a dismissal shrug. Her hand shoved elbow-deep into a sleeve and withdrew a dark, sparkling spoon-wand. She raised her hands, eyes closed.

Cinderella forced words through stiff lips. Please, let me go.”

Graechel’s hand fell to her side. “Quiet! I have to concentrate.” She tapped the end of the wand against her palm, waiting for Cinderella’s sobbing to end. Graechel shook her head and cleared her throat. Her incantations rose above Cinderella’s whimpers. The wand cast a sickly green light as it hummed in the air.

Magical orbs spewed outward in a swirling trail. Spectral baubles burst over an aged-old cauldron half buried in dirt. On the way across the yard, it grew in size, tumbling over in thuds, dumping dry soil and crumbling rocks. The iron croaked under the stress of being reshaped. It morphed between a wheeled cart, a wagon, and a carriage before settling as a king carrier.

Spiders skittered to the roof. They spun silk under Grachel’s spell, weaving intricate cobweb curtains before dispersing.

Orbs showered into the earth. Skeletal hands broke through the surface, clinging over dirt and grass. A body of bones climbed past their unmarked graves. Eight total gathered together, taking their position by the carrier.

A swarm of iridescent bubbles collided into Cinderella’s tattered dress. Gossamer silk weaved across her body. Snow-white feathers gathered below her shoulders in a plume. Matching gloves, lined with crystal gems, formed over her hands. Ghost-white moth wings grew out from her bare back. A moth-like headdress formed over her head as two feathery antennae sprouted and curved past her forehead. Parts of her hair bundled up into two buns with cascading curls as other parts twisted into braids.

Bubbles aimed at Cinderella’s bare feet. Dark metal-spiked slippers appeared. “I believe Prince Charming has a thing for spiked slippers. He’s going to love these.” Graechel nodded and giggled.

Cinderella stared from wide eyes.

“Now, for the finishing touch,” said Graechel. “Open wide.” She spun in circles, raising her hands to the sky beneath the Hunter’s Moon. Her body shattered into a dark plume of shimmering flies. Cinderella’s mouth was forced open and the swarm of Graechel entered.

Cinderella’s eyes closed. Tears still running down, eyes burning. The weight of Graechel’s magic filled her lungs. Invaded her mind. Shoved her to the side, into the background as a prisoner in her own body. Forced to observe as Graechel took complete control.

Inhaling deeply, Graechel opened her eyes. “Ah. If the body fits, wear it well. We’re like two yolks in a raven’s egg. That’s what my mother witch would say.” Gathering the hem of her moth-like gown she danced toward the carrier and seated herself. She tapped her wand against a skeleton’s skull, clicking her tongue twice. “Off we go!”

The skeletons hoisted the carrier poles over their shoulders and marched down the road, rattling their bones to Graechel’s humming.

Julia Stilchen grew up loving all things fantasy, paranormal and science fiction. She especially enjoys reimagining fairy tales, retelling them with an entirely new spin. Aside from writing, she enjoys spending time with her family, occasionally playing video games, and working on creative projects.

Check out Julia: www.juliastilchen.com

Follow her on Twitter: https://twitter.com/JuliaStilchen

And Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/AuthorJuliaStilchen/

Cover: Amanda Bergloff @AmandaBergloff