Kaz’s fingers clamped down on the back of the boys’ necks. His grasp was icy, and black shot through Cyprus’s vision. That iciness spread from the point of contact, sinking dark magic deep into his muscles. Cyprus didn't know if he'd collapsed or frozen in place standing.
A solitary auburn-haired figure pored over amber shards split open on a table stacked with maps. With a heavy needle, they chipped at the crinkled legs of spiders and wasps trapped inside. The two seagull feathers sat next to an aged sextant on the maps.
Before Cyprus was born, there had been a proper schoolteacher in Serafina. A woman straight from the capital, or somewhere close enough to count.
The mercenaries of Selwyn’s horde cast out from the harbors of Eir Nu by the time night lifted. They raced for Avalon. Lonan did not know about Una Beli’s horde, but feared the fear that was rank in the air.
Shackles in filigree cage man’s wings to his chest.
Its time for another short film showcase, this time honoring a few films I found on a "cute animals" binge gone terribly awry.
The fire bursts awake in the trees. It begins by eating the green from each leaf.
You may or may not have noticed that Google AdSense finally bought my soul after weeks of me trying to sell it. Apologies from Phantasmagorium if the old girl's a little rough around the edges while everything gets figured out.
So today we're having the equivalent of a Class Movie Day here on Phantasmagorium. In the spirit of rest and relaxation--and extreme discomfort--I thought we'd watch "Possibly in Michigan," a ten-minute short film directed by Cecelia Condit.
"I bought my ticket outta Hell the same way I bought my ticket in: feedin' the baby diamonds."