Dreamscape on a knife edge slashing the past, her tranquility on fire, dense smoke haunting each night. Abusive memories on a blind path of sharp betrayal, replaying each night when she turned out the light. Each morning's cure was to give love, gather love, her lips to a thorn hurting less when her heart held roses. ©September 2017, October 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.