Faerie Tales by Alex Jane Scala

The Girl Who Used to Dream by Meisje R.

...And the Door Will Open by Thia Odiorne

Evolution by Kenna Kettrick

Review: Pan's Labyrinth by Frances Nicole Rogers

Horizon by Taline Boghosian

Hold onto that feeling. You'll need it.

* * *

There's an unexpected comfort in noticing things that you've failed to notice before.

It could be as simple as the way evening sunlight glints off the rooftops right after a light rain, or it could be as complicated as the feeling that someone who should trust you doesn't. You might realize, coming around a familiar street corner at a different angle, that the shadowy recess behind the park gate is failing to hide from view a decayed den of treasures. You might even find yourself catching a moment between lovers that you weren't meant to catch.

There's also the point where you realize how the story works, and there's seldom comfort in that.

* * *

Waiting outside in the rain is cold business, but somebody's got to do it.

Lines were made for waiting in, and without them, the order of things would probably fall apart at an alarming rate. In a line, you're never alone, no matter how lonely you feel. There's usually something to lean against, and every once in a while, the person ahead of you will shuffle forward, which means that you have leave to shuffle forward yourself. The world is something like that, gaps being made and filled.

When you find a gap that's yours, your feet won't want to move any further.

* * *

Keep hold of that feeling: wind on the water.

You'll need it very soon.

* * *

In my father's house, there are many mansions.

It's easy to listen to someone talking about the future. Events that haven't happened yet are safe, because they haven't happened yet. And if they don't, well, nobody is generally to blame. It's that they just don't get around to happening, and they can always be inscribed in another person's longing book of dreams.

Still, you'd like to think, once and a while, that you'll at least have a room or two of your own.

* * *

Knowing how the story works implies that you also know how to fix it.

Sometimes, a story doesn't need to be fixed. Those times are rare, and they're to be treasured when you find them. It's not very often that you can just sit back and know that everyone is going to end up exactly where they need to be. The times you dread are the times that you can sense the train wreck while it's long in coming, but, sooner or later, the wreck will hit and take your heart along with it. You didn't ask to be standing there; you didn't ask to love.

At times like that, the last thing you want to do is close your eyes.

* * *

The moon is full, white, and shimmering overhead. It fractures on the water, roundness unraveled.

In my father's house, there are many threads.