Every day before breakfast, Mariela crept out to see the fairy’s maze. She took her mother’s old mirror from the top of its mahogany dresser, blowing off the scraps of crumbling wallpaper, and swiped a scone from the cook’s first batch of the day.
Your brother, Sci-Fi, is already drunk and drifting off near a gardenia arrangement, probably spacing out. Kooky Aunt Magical Realism is in The Front Row in a funny hat, primed to catch the bouquet when it's thrown. You can't place it, but something's always been off about her.
I seem to be the only one who's noticed how many romantic cliches in writing can shape up into seriously great villain origin stories. Hear me out.
The letters get away from me, making tiramisu.
Sadie owned the most remarkable pair of green eyes Iván had ever itched to paint.
The moment it came off the tree, Nadim sank hungry fingers through the pomegranate’s skin to reach the pips. His nails hit solid rubies.
"I bought my ticket outta Hell the same way I bought my ticket in: feedin' the baby diamonds."
Crushed between two pages bookmarking a section on home fertility remedies, Shiori found a head of dried hydrangeas. He plucked it out gingerly—the petals were veined and brittle as fly wings. They shuddered quietly in his grasp. Shiori's eyebrow ticked. He hated dead things.
He killed any fondness for his favorite game, of spotting the nervous buttonquails when they ran. He thought not at all of being sent off to bed without haggard carers and squabbling sisters.
My recent bodice-ripping affair with Canva has finally led me to redesign the cover for "Black Dragon," which you might remember was a tad too edgy. This one is a little shittier, but vastly more appropriate.