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Lore Alemeyu collected stories like the raven that lived above the apothecary hoarded shiny pebbles.
If we didn’t have to give almost all our earnings to the Alytherians, then maybe we humans could pave our streets.
It wasn’t unlike her beloved apothecary.
There was an odd juxtaposition between the beauty of the sentries and their cruelty.
“My favorite stories are the ones I can escape into. The ones where I can leave behind this bleak existence and be somebody else, even if just for a little while. Someone braver than me. Someone with the power to change their circumstances.”
He tastes like blackberries and honey.
A tingle from the tips of her toes spread up to her hairline, and she knew the spell was done. She’d cast a spell. Magic. She’d done magic.
she couldn’t do this on her own. And maybe she didn’t have to.
A song of hope came to her, whispering about home, home, home. Is this what it feels like to be in a home of one’s own?
