A.F. Stewart's Blog, page 92

Cover Reveal for Christmas Lites III

On Dec. 3rd, the book, Christmas Lites III, will be released. It's the third in a series of charity anthologies, where proceeds go to the National Coalition Against Domestic Violence. This year, another bevy of talented authors have come together (including me) to celebrate the season with their tales, sometimes in strange and unusual ways. And today I'm happy to show you the stunning cover art for the book, so on with the reveal:





About Christmas Lites III:

The Christmas season is upon us yet again. Yes, my friends, it is a time of giving, loving, and sharing. Within these pages is a way you can help many people desperately in need of love, support, and goodness: the victims of domestic crime. By purchasing this anthology, you are sending every last dime made off this book to the National Coalition Against Domestic Violence. The NCADV is an amazing charity that saves these people and lets them know there is still hope, still goodness, and still a reason to carry on.
Twenty-one authors have joined in this year, giving their time and their stories to these people – and to you. We all hope you enjoy our holiday tales captured in bite-size pieces. Whether you read this on the bus, before bed, or snuggled by the fire, please, do read – and share.

Authors in this anthology:

Addison Moore
A.F. Stewart
Amy Eye
Angela Yuriko Smith
Ben Warden
Cassie McCown
Elizabeth Evans
J.A. Clement
JG Faherty
Jonathan Tidball
M.L. Sherwood
Monica La Porta
Ottilie Weber
Patrick Freivald
Phil Cantrill
Robert Gray
Ron C. Neito
S. Patrick Pothier
Tricia Kristufek
Vered Ehsani
*Brandon Eye bonus story

Editor/compiler: Amy Eye of The Eyes for Editing
Cover Design Kyra Smith

Link to the charity: www.ncadv.org

Spotlight on Waking Up Dead

I'm showcasing a book today, the paranormal mystery, Waking Up Dead by Margo Bond Collins:











Waking Up Dead by Margo Bond Collins



When Dallas resident Callie Taylor died young, she expected to go to Heaven, or maybe Hell. Instead, when she met her fate early thanks to a creep with a knife and a mommy complex, she went to Alabama. Now she's witnessed another murder, and she's not about to let this one go. She's determined to help solve it before an innocent man goes to prison. And to answer the biggest question of all: why the hell did she wake up dead in Alabama?















An Excerpt from Waking Up Dead :



When I died, I expected to go to heaven.

Okay. Maybe hell. It’s not like I was perfect or anything. But I was sort of hoping for heaven.

Instead, I went to Alabama.

Yeah. I know. It’s weird.

I died in Dallas, my hometown. I was killed, actually. Murdered. I’ll spare you the gruesome details. I don’t like to remember them myself. Some jerk with a knife--and probably a Bad-Mommy complex. Believe me, if I knew where he was, I’d go haunt his ass.

At any rate, by the time death came, I was ready for it--ready to stop hurting, ready to let go. I didn't even fight it.

And then I woke up dead in Alabama. Talk about pissed off.

You know, even reincarnation would have been fine with me--I could have started over, clean slate and all that. Human, cow, bug. Whatever. But no. I ended up haunting someplace I’d never even been.

That’s not the way it’s supposed to work, right? Ghosts are supposed to be the tortured spirits of those who cannot let go of their earthly existence. If they could be convinced to follow the light, they’d leave behind said earthly existence and quit scaring the bejesus out of the poor folks who run across them. That’s what all those “ghost hunter” shows on television tell us.

Let me tell you something. The living don’t know jack about the dead.

Not this dead chick, anyway.






Waking Up Dead is available on Amazon

And for your Goodreads bookshelves



















About the Author:


Margo Bond Collins lives in Texas with her husband, their daughter, several spoiled cats, and a ridiculous turtle. She teaches college-level English courses online, though writing fiction is her first love. She enjoys reading urban fantasy and paranormal fiction of any genre and spends most of her free time daydreaming about vampires, ghosts, zombies, werewolves, and other monsters. Waking Up Dead is her first published novel. Her second novel, Legally Undead, is an urban fantasy, forthcoming in 2014 from World Weaver Press.



Connect with Margo:



Amazon Author Page: https://www.amazon.com/author/margobondcollins

Website: http://www.MargoBondCollins.com

Twitter:  @MargoBondCollin

Google+: https://plus.google.com/116484555448104519902

Goodreads Author Page: http://www.goodreads.com/vampirarchy

Facebook Author Page: https://www.facebook.com/MargoBondCollins

Facebook Novel Page: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Waking-Up-Dead/502076076537575

Tumblr: http://vampirarchybooks.tumblr.com/

Pinterest: http://www.pinterest.com/mbondcollins/

Poems For Remembrance Day

For this Remembrance Day, some poems in memory of the fallen:














Through the Eyes of a Soldier




One breath, one individual breath,

exhaled slowly across the arena of battle.

A small impulsive act, to muster your valour,

before you step into war, into the killing field.

Where bodies drop upon the trampled ground,

where you will choke on grime and acrid smoke,

as the earth grows sodden, drenched with blood,

and the air will hum, unreal, with lingering death.

Pain is the final sensation your body will know,

before you succumb and fall, with one last breath.












In Memoriam




Battlefields of scarlet

where the flowers grow

and the wind blows past

the fallen soldiers.

Where the flowers grow

with memories of soldiers;

ghosts not forgotten.

And the wind blows past

rows of weathered stone,

that mark their graves.

The Fallen Soldiers;

lives given, sacrificed

in war, in honour.










Soldier Boy




Play me a tune for Death;

he has passed this way.

A sad lament, for those

who shed their final blood

on this forlorn battlefield.

Play a song of sorrow

for your fallen friends.

Each and every soul

who shall never grace

again, this vibrant earth.

The Winners Of My Coffin Hop Contests

The moment has arrived folks, drum roll please...




The Contests Winners


Okay first up the three winners of my supplementary contests:



For the free e-copy (via Smashwords) of my book, Reflections of Poetry, the winner is: Jolie Du Pre



For the free e-copy (via Smashwords) of my book, Gothic Cavalcade, the winner is: Aspen deLainey



For the free e-copy (via Smashwords) of Coffin Hop: Death by Drive-In, the winner is: Popple





And now for the Rafflecopter Contest:



1st Prize: Jeanette Jackson



2nd Prize: Sheila Deeth



3rd Prize: Skye Callahan



Congratulations to all.  I've sent out emails to the Rafflecopter winners already, and will be in touch with the rest shortly, or you can email me (you can find my email here on the blog).

#CoffinHop Day 8: A Halloween of Villains

On this, the last day of Coffin Hop, I present to you a
little song I composed. Just don't ask me to sing, it won't be pretty.









This one is for the
geeks…




This ditty is to be sung as a duet, with one singer crooning
in the traditional Twelve Days of Christmas style, and the other doing spoken
asides of the words in brackets. The first line should be sung together, and
the last two lines are to be spoken.







On the Dark Eve of Halloween, my true love gave to me...




Twelve Trolls Fighting (Over who gets the last holiday cookie)

Eleven Witches Brewing (And it wasn’t coffee)

Ten Lords a-Sithing (Sithing, really? That’s not even a word.
They’re Sith Lords; it’s a title)

Nine Nazgul Riding (Run, Frodo, Run)

Eight Wicked Pirates (Sorry, no Captain Jack Sparrow)

Seven Zombies a-Snacking (Brains!
Braaains!)

Six Borgs assimilating (Resistance is futile)

Five Golden Dragons (A hot time in the old town tonight)

Four Arkham Escapees (Batman’s got his hands full)

Three A.I.’s (It’s HAL, the Matrix, and Skynet)

Two Malicious Mutants (Call the X-Men, quick!)

And an Evil Queen with an Apple (Poisoned, of course)







I'm going to need more room on my collectables shelf (you got
that right).







For more scary stuff
on this last day, scroll down for the list of Coffin Hoppers, and don't forget
to enter the Rafflecopter contest, it’s your final chance. Winners of all the contests will be
announced tomorrow.






a Rafflecopter giveaway

#CoffinHop Day 7: Inhuman

We are taking a break from the creepy world of fairies today
and trekking back to the world of monsters, human or otherwise, with a guest
post by fellow Xchyler Publishing author, (and fellow Canadian), R. M. Ridley.
Here’s his take on the things that give us shivers…









Inhuman – a
phrase used often in horror. A term which can be used to convey so much, in
only one word. It evokes a visceral reaction without providing any details.
What is it about that one word which makes us flinch? Why does it sum up horror
itself?

I believe
that word holds power, in part, because it gives no particulars. By saying
‘What he saw beyond that door was inhuman’ allows the readers to envision any,
and all, possibilities. ‘Inhuman’ may call to mind an amorphous blob waving
tentacles to one and a chitinous tube with a gaping mouth to another.

The
vagueness of ‘inhuman’ conjures the primal fear buried deep within the reader.
It is fun to write the thing you see in your own head. It is natural to want to
convey the wrongness of your own imagining to your audience. However, there is
purity in the works of those authors like Lovecraft, who leave the horror to
the readers own worst nightmares.

‘Inhuman’
can strike a different note of fear as well. When used not to describe a
creature from some dark dimension but the behavior and actions of one that is,
in all other ways, all too human, such as the fascination with the individuals
and characters that are killers – serial killers being a prime example.

These
incarnations of the term ‘inhuman’ fascinate and scare because not only do they
blend in - seem like one of us - but because in their apparent humanity, their
inhuman actions become even more horrorific.

A demon
from hell eating the neighbor is understandable to us because they are not
human. These creatures that we create to scare us are expected to be heartless
killers. We understand that, because that’s why we imagine them. But, when it
is one of our own – when it is a person – it becomes harder to understand, to
figure out the why.

This fear
goes far beyond that it will be our own neighbor who ‘seemed so nice’ but then
ate the mailman. It is, in fact, the fear that within each of us there is the
possibility to be ‘inhuman’.

Tapping
into that fear, making each reader question their own interior darkness, is
something I have yet to achieve - but I strive for it. I want to write that
story that makes each and every reader shiver in fear as they touch their own
inner ‘inhuman’.







R. M.
Ridley lives with his wife on a small homestead in Canada, raising chickens and
sheep. He has been writing stories, both long and short, for three decades, the
themes of which range from the gruesome to the fantastical. As an individual
who suffers from severe Bi-polar disorder, R. M. Ridley is a strong believer in
being open about mental health issues and uses his writing to escape, when his
thoughts become too wild.




Blog – http://creativityfromchaos.wordpress.com/

Facebook
Page - https://www.facebook.com/RMRidleyAuthor

Webpage - http://bit.ly/RMRIDLEYWeb

Twitter - https://twitter.com/RavenMRidley




R. M.
Ridley’s ‘The Cost of Custody’, a paranormal P.I. story about a kidnapped
child, magic, and a father’s love, is one of nine short stories in ‘Shades and
Shadows: A Paranormal Anthology’ – available now:  http://www.amazon.com/Shades-Shadows-Paranormal-Anthology-ebook/dp/B00FRS9CA4/












And in honour of
today’s post, one lucky person who leaves a comment will win a free copy of
Death by Drive-In, the Coffin Hop Anthology.



You can find out more about the book at the Coffin Hop website

All profits from the anthology will be donated to LitWorld.org, a  non-profit organization supporting child literacy and social improvement the world over.






Plus, don't forget to scroll
on down for the list of more Coffin Hoppers to visit, and enter the
Rafflecopter contest.


















a Rafflecopter giveaway

#CoffinHop Day 6: Beyond the Gloaming

For today I have a
creepy little tale of the Faerie…







Beyond the Gloaming









Bran trudged wearily along the mountain path, tired, but
determined. He needed to reach the hollow before dusk, or wait another year. He
glanced at the ever sinking sun; his time grew short.

“A strange journey you're on, young man. Best think twice
before continuing.”

Bran stopped, his path now blocked by a stooped old hag of a
woman, dressed in a grey cloak and an odd looking four cornered hat. She smiled
at him, an unsettling grin that made him shiver.

“Who are you and where did you come from?”

“Never you mind the answer to either question, young man.
Just listen, and if you have the sense, heed my advice.” She took a step closer
to him. “What you seek is not what you will find. What you had is lost,
swallowed whole. Do not meddle in affairs of the Seelie Court.”

Bran balled his hands into fists, her words sparking his
anger. “I will not be dissuaded. They stole from me. I will have what is mine.”

“You cannot steal what was freely given, young man, but no
matter. I see you are unwavering. Be on your way.” The old woman stepped aside
and allowed Bran to pass, casting parting words as he left her behind. “Don't
drink their wine.”




~*~




Bran entered the hollow—a clearing nestled in the forest—with
the first touch of dusk, and left the safety of the woodland path. In the
gloaming he waited for them.

As silhouettes cast against the fading sunlight they
appeared, one by one, laughing, shimmering, the host of Faerie, come to play in
the world of mortals. Shadows danced around them, scattering light and air, the
trees whispered names in the old tongue, and the sky turned cold.

“Who have we here, come to call this night, on the Seelie
Court?” A tall Fae, with pale, blond hair and a crown upon his head stepped
towards Bran. “Come human, state your business.”

Bran swallowed, both spit and fear. “I am Bran. I've come to
retrieve what’s mine.”

The Faerie smiled. “You have spirit little human, but have a
care. You address a Prince of the Faerie. And it sounds much as if you accuse
the Court of thievery.”

Bran summoned his courage. He would not fail now. “I do
accuse you. You stole my wife, Eva. Spirited her away with you a year ago, from
this very glade. I’ve waited long enough, return her to me.”

“Ah. That puts a different spin on the matter that does.”
The Prince snickered. “A husband come to fetch a wife.” He spun about to
address his subjects. “Do we have a wife for him?”The Faerie Host laughed, an
indifferent, harsh noise.

The Prince swiveled back to face Bran. “A brave soul you may
be, but a foolish one. You can’t have her back, not as the woman you knew. She
belongs to us now. See for yourself.”

With a wave of the prince’s hand, the Host parted to reveal
the figure of a woman. She shimmered, a vision of beauty, her skin, pale,
shining, nearly translucent, and her fair hair glowed in ethereal grace. But
her eyes held a vacant, pensive stare, as if she gazed at something just beyond
the edges of the world, and her smile held no kindness, only dissipation. In her
hands she held a golden goblet.

Bran stared. “Eva?”

The woman gazed at him. “Yes. That’s my name. At least I
think it used to be, perhaps not anymore.” She laughed, a mad, echoing sound.
“Do I know you?”

“Eva, it’s Bran. Your husband.” He reached out his hand to
her.

“Oh, I don't have a husband. I had one once, but I misplaced
him. I don't mind though, because I’ll have a new one. Soon. Not yet, but
soon.” She took a few steps forward. “Would you like to be my new husband? Join
me. Have a drink.” She held out the goblet.

Bran felt a hand on his shoulder and the cold breath of Faerie in his ear. “You want to be
with your love? Join with us, taste of our wine. You can leave this world and
be with her in ours. Take the cup and drink.”

Bran reached out his hand, his fingers brushing against the
gold. It would be so easy.

“No.” He let his hand fall. “I won’t. She’s mine, not
yours.” He grabbed Eva by the wrist, turned and ran, pulling her along in his
wake. The goblet dropped, spilling the wine.

He sprinted for the clearing edge, dragging Eva behind him.
He raced for the woodland path, beyond their circle of power, but never reached
it. The Faerie blocked his course, surrounded Bran, captured him, and snatched
Eva from his grasp.

He stretched out his hands, as they pulled them apart,
trying to hold on to her, to touch her. “No, stop it, let her go. Give her back
to me.”

The Faerie Prince stepped between them. “You had your
chance. You refused us, human. Now you lose the game and pay the forfeit.” He
smiled. “But I'm not heartless. One last look, perhaps.”

The prince turned and took Eva’s hand, drawing her forward.
“Do you have anything to say to our erstwhile guest, my dear?”

“Am I supposed to say kind words? I don't have any.” Eva
smiled.

“Eva, please.
Remember me, I'm your husband.” He struggled to break free of his captors.

“No. No husband tonight. You didn't join us. A shame, you
seemed nice until you tried to run.” She turned to the prince. “Can I play with
him instead?”

“Of course you can, my dear.” The prince clapped his hands.
“Did you hear? Eva wants to play. Form a circle.”

Suddenly Bran was free. He watched the faerie as they moved
silently, toward the edge of the glade. He stood alone with Eva, encircled by
Faerie.

“What’s going on?”

Eva laughed. “They're making certain you can’t escape.” From
a sheath attached to her belt, she drew a silver dagger.

Bran backed away a few steps. “Eva. What are you doing?”

She smiled. “It’s time for fun. It’s time to play. It’s time
for you to bleed.” She laughed, with the Seelie Court echoing the sound.




~*~




The old hag of a woman hobbled into glade with the first
rays of the morning sun. She shuffled to Bran’s corpse where it sprawled on the
trampled grass. She chuckled as she took her knife from her belt and opened her
bag made of hide. Then she knelt down beside the body.

“Told you she was lost, and not to meddle. Though I suppose,
it was bad advice to tell you not to drink the wine. Teach you to listen to
strangers.” She chuckled again.

“Leastwise you won’t go to waste.” With her blade, she cut
open his stomach and torso. “Your body parts will make powerful spells, they
will.” The old woman hacked out his organs and tucked the fresh meat into her
sack. The last thing she did was scoop out his eyeballs. Then she closed her
sack and rose.

Outside the glade the old woman could sense the animals.
They were hungry. “I’m done. Come and finish the rest.” She turned and walked
away, leaving Bran’s remains for carrion.







Now keep scrolling for
the list of more Coffin Hoppers to visit and don't forget to enter my
Rafflecopter contest.



a Rafflecopter giveaway

#CoffinHop Day 5: Finding the Unicorn

Another story for today, this time a tale that didn't make
the cut for Fairy Tale Fusion (mostly because I forgot to include it):








Finding the Unicorn












On a windy evening in October, Sammy the Troll stomped into
the Monster’s Bar and Grill, with a scowl on his face and anger in his heart
(or at least that tiny shrivelled mass of muscle he called a heart). He scanned
the twisted and misshapen faces in the bar, looking for the particular mug of
Oscar the Fairy. Oscar was an investigator, of the private variety, and the
toughest, meanest fairy this side of the Seelie
Court. He was exactly who Sammy needed.

Sammy pushed across the crowded bar, knocking over a few
tables and a hoard of pixies that stood in his path. Upon reaching Oscar he demanded, “I want you to get my
unicorn back!”

Oscar slowly sipped his whiskey before replying. “Details,
you pug ugly. What happened to the unicorn?”

“Emily the Ogre took him when she left me. The stupid beast
took him for spite and I want him back.”

“Oh yeah, I heard you and Miss Nasty Ogre checked into
splitsville. Tough break, her taking your precious unicorn, but it seems to me
this is a domestic thing. I don't do domestic.”

“I'll triple your normal fee.”

Oscar whistled softly. “Okay, for triple, I'll do domestic.
You care how I get the unicorn back?”

“Nope, do what you got to do. I just want my baby back.”

Oscar smiled. He figured he'd get free rein. Everybody in
the Worlds knew how Sammy felt about the unicorn. “If I get my money up front,
you can have your unicorn back by midnight.”

“Done.” Sammy slammed a thick wad of cash onto the table.

Oscar smiled wider and picked up the money. “See you later
tonight, pug ugly.”




A few spells later and Oscar stood face to face with Emily
inside her lair. She had planted herself between him and the unicorn. “Hand him
over, sweets, and nobody gets hurt.”

“Try and take him, fairy, and I'll rip off your wings.”

“Don't say I didn't warn you, sweets.”

Oscar opened his hand and showed her the dust. She screamed,
but it was too late. He tossed the fairy powder into her face, she went “poof”
and shrank down to the size of a pixie. A very angry, yelling, pixie-sized
ogre. Oscar bent down, scooped her into a sack on his belt and then retrieved
the unicorn. He gave it a squeeze.

He shook his head in disbelief. “All this fuss over a plush
toy.”




Still muttering about the foibles of trolls and ogres, Oscar
headed to his client’s den and returned the unicorn to Sammy who was all
smiles.

“My baby snookums is back.” Sammy hugged his toy. “Now get
lost, fairy. I need my rest. I haven't had a good night’s sleep since my baby
got stolen.”

Oscar watched Sammy snuggle into his bed of leaves still
clutching his precious toy, and as he left, he could hear the sound of the
troll’s snores. Oscar went back to his house, counted his cash and put an ad up
on the internet: For Sale, One Angry Shrunken Ogre. Needs a Good Home.






Thanks for reading. Anyone who leaves a comment today gets a chance to win an e-copy of my book, Gothic Cavalcade (via Smashwords).




Now scroll on down for
the list of more Coffin Hoppers, and continue down the dark path… and don't forget to enter the Rafflecopter contest. 





a Rafflecopter giveaway

#CoffinHop Day 4: Dark Poetry Corner

It’s time for my
poetry corner, where I dig out the dark shards of inspiration…




These two poems were
originally slated to appear in Fairy Tale Fusion, but alas didn't make the
final cut.  But you do get to enjoy them
as part of Coffin Hop.









Little Red Riding
Hood... Don’t Go into the Woods




Once upon that haunted
time,

a land flowed bitter
in foul crime.

The woods, such a
dangerous place,



travellers learned
to quicken their pace.




One day, a girl with
a hood of red

went off to Grandma,
who lay abed.

The young lass was
charming, but plain

with modest sense
and little brain.




She went unaware,
through the woods,

bearing her Granny a
basket of goods.

While the Wolf Clan
tracked every tread

their vile
intentions to inspire deep dread.




Poor old Granny they
dispatched

and a wicked plot straight
away hatched.

Gullible Girl Red
stepped into a trap,

that Wolf Clan
scheme to kidnap.




She disappeared from
the world that day;

there was no
Huntsman to help her stay.

She ended in a dank,
dark pit,

roasting on the Wolf
Clan spit.










Briar Rose








A curse, time and beauty enfold her fate...




Smoke and dark magic

waft in the ether

as a small baby
cries

her first breath.




Darkness rises, tendrils curling,
entwining...




The past cannot be
hidden,

hate seeks
retribution.

Blood calls to
blood,

even ichor black as
pitch.




On the first moon the blight is cast to
fall...




A singular unwelcome
guest

spewing sins and
venom.

The noxious web
begins,

the magic spun along
the path.




One prick upon the finger, a drop of blood...




A dream of
immortality

as she slumbers,
imprisoned

behind walls of
razor thorns

fed by princely
flesh and bone.




A rider comes, the destined last hunter...




Following the fabled
prize.

He prevails, a quest
fulfilled

her dreams disturbed
with a kiss.

And her life becomes
his,




still not her own...










This next poem
appears in the Twisted Shorties II anthology (free on Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/329697
):




In the Mirror








Reflection of light, illusion in grey,

Oh, mirror, mirror tell me true,

Who is fated to die this day?




A flicker of magic, come what may,

for kings, princes, and courtiers too,

Reflection of light, illusion in grey.




I smile, I laugh, with words betray,

Should I whisper that spell anew?

Who is fated to die this day?




A timely curse, enchantments sway;

Pawns that topple, and blood I drew.

Reflection of light, illusion in grey.




Have your children gone astray?

Perhaps a part of someone’s stew?

Who is fated to die this day?




Witches are calling, come join the fray,

To pirouette with Death, will you?

Reflection of light, illusion in grey.

Who is fated to die this day?








Thanks for reading, and be sure to comment, as one person who leaves a comment will be picked at random to win a free e-copy (via Smashwords) of my book, Reflections of Poetry.




Hope you enjoyed
this shadowy sojourn, please continue down the dark road and visit some of the
other hoppers  (scroll down, way down, to
find the list) and don't forget to enter the Rafflecopter Contest (see below).



a Rafflecopter giveaway

#CoffinHop Day 3: Fairy Tale Confessional

Another day, another coffin. This time it’s Sleeping
Beauty’s…








An Excerpt from Fairy
Tale Fusion:







I Cursed Sleeping Beauty... And
She Deserved It






So you want to hear my
side of the story? All the dirt behind the scoundrel of the Sleeping Beauty
Tale?

Well here’s the
scoop...




The fact is I've gotten a bad rap. I've been branded the bad
guy because I put some prissy, pink-cheeked spoiled princess under a curse and
she fell asleep for a century. Big deal, so she took a nap. She woke up
eventually and now she’s got her happily-ever-after and a dreamy prince. Plus,
she’s over a hundred and she still looks like a teenager. I bet she'll be
wishing she was still snoozing when things start to sag.

Yes, dear little Sleeping Beauty’s got it good, and what did
I get? Bad PR, that’s what. Of course nobody
ever looks at it from my side. It’s all, well, “she’s the bad fairy.” Was it my fault that fate chose me to be the
keeper of the darker things in life? No it wasn't, I was born into it; I've
been up against it since I came into this world.

A numbers game, that’s what my life started as, a freaking
unlucky chance of being born the thirteenth heir of the ruling fairy families.
All my life I knew my destiny would be to follow the path of Dark Magic.

As a child, I was sent to magic school with my cousins. I
learned curses and poisons while the rest of my family made love potions and
fancy fairy dust. On the playground they shunned me, taunted and teased me. I
toughened up quickly in that school.

I spent my teen years crawling around swamps for toads and
lizards while the other girls dreamed about boys and lacy dresses. No one
teased me anymore, though; you turn one girl blue for a week and that sort of
thing stops cold.

After graduation (head of my class, but I never got credit
for that) I found myself at loose
ends and an outcast in my own family. I went to live on my own, shut myself
away in a lonely tower, while my twelve cousins went on to fame and fortune.
They flitted about, bestowing beauty, happiness, and charm on the world; I
dished out warts and bad luck spells. Is it any wonder I'm a little bitter?

It’s not like I looked for any trouble, I just did my job. I
went out of my way to temper all that evil I was in charge of and make the best
of it. All I asked for was some respect. Not too much to request, but still I
got shafted.

You see, there’s a part of my story that tends to get
glossed over, you know the part about me being snubbed, publicly. They knew the tradition, that a royal child is christened
in attendance of all the fairy
houses, even the Dark Fae. I wanted to go, to have a new elegant dress, and
maybe dance a waltz at the after party. I picked out the right gift—nothing too
ostentatious, just a touch of temper—a flaw to give her a rounded personality.
I figured with all those other gifts like wit, charisma and beauty she needed a
little something to make her more human.

But the King and Queen couldn't bear to have their precious daughter marred (their word, not mine)
so they made the wrong decision to
change the centuries old custom. Did those royals ever consider my feelings?
No, they went and left me out of the christening party. An oversight they said
later, they simply forgot to dispatch my invite. Yeah, right. And I was
supposed to stand back and suffer that slight, take the insult? Well, not this
gal, I can tell you. I had a reputation to maintain.

So I crashed their soiree and cursed the little princess.
Sure, I went a little overboard with my original, “prick her finger and die”
proclamation, but I've always had a tendency to overdo when I'm mad. It’s not
like she died or anything. And maybe I did cheat a little on her sixteenth
birthday to ensure my curse, but hey, a bit of chicanery is my trademark. I
needed some insurance, to show those royals that I was still in control.

I stand by my actions. I was justified and they all had it
coming. What did they expect for offending the Queen of the Dark Fairies? It’s
the spin that bugs me, this whole “wicked fairy godmother” crap. Where do they
get off judging me? A bunch of snooty royals screw up and for that I get
labelled a villain!

Life just isn't fair.












Fairy Tale Fusion is available at:




Amazon.com: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00G1RJUCA

Amazon.ca: http://www.amazon.ca/dp/B00G1RJUCA

Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/356889

Kobo: http://store.kobobooks.com/en-CA/ebook/fairy-tale-fusion

Barnes and Noble: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/fairy-tale-fusion-a-f-stewart/1116913271

iTunes: https://itunes.apple.com/ca/book/fairy-tale-fusion/id706475602?mt=11
























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