Little though she was, she knew what it was to be discarded. The rock she sat upon was home, the road walked alone, brokenhearted. Waking dreams walked, beside her they talked about hope and purpose. Imagination held her, hand in hand it whispered, she’d one day make it right. ©March 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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