He was back again, right where she wanted him, stepping into her story to haunt her again. Witty and charming, and oh so smart, he laughed and he loved and he respected her heart. She set fingers to the screen to draw him forth, but the words denied her again, they did that, of course. She’d pour wine and warm to his kindness, then write to exhaustion, to maintain his presence. ©October 2019, February 2021 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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