Her heart a creator's. Her hands holding a gift, a golden orb. Time, a treasure not to be wasted, yet she set it aside to save. Each day, every day, at midnight, inspiration would become dust. Each morn, every morn, a new inspiration withered. One day, a spark, a realization: saving time saved nothing, not when the choice was Time set aside or Time applied. ©November 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.