Wandering the empty plain she thought she was empty inside. Huddled against the cold she thought she was frozen within. And she was. And she wasn’t. She realized she could be all she was without being confined. She was the caged bird soaring. She was freedom nestled. Pieces of the one were but a part of the whole. She was experiences forever treasured, and all her adversity. She was her heart given with both hands. ©July 2017, October 2020 Christina Anne Hawthorne
Christina Anne Hawthorne
Alive and well in the Rocky Mountains. I'm a fantasy writer who also dabbles in poetry, short stories, and map making. My Ontyre tales are an alternative fantasy experience, the stories rich in mystery, adventure, and romance. Alternative fantasy? Not quite steampunk. Not quite gothic. In truth, the real magic is in those who discover what's within.
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