Whispered gasp burning where touch not her own sparked. She was too old to be new, impossible by every measure. She —awaking, disbelieving— was unaware love existed. Well, not real love, not this love, not the kind that keeps you up at night. A moan, a sigh, an impossible love, one she was discovering now. ©September 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.
Join 2,742 other followers