FEAR. That’s what usually holds a person back from pursuing anything. Yet here I am facing it now. Goodbye to the old me that took everything for granted and hello to the new—not ready to admit that yet. You know that pillowy cushion of thinking, it’s a safe bet? That the risk is lower. It’s …
Some call me The Light, some call me Angel, and some call me a diviner, but they’re all wrong—I’m The White Raven and my name is Snow, the winter witch of the north. I carry with me cold weather. If you’re lucky, you might see me on the first day of the winter solstice. I …
The lead pencil tip digs deep into the paper. Another draft, and it’s another, ‘I don’t know what to write’ that wracks my brain. Too many thoughts and not enough words. I mean, does that even make any sense? I can’t concentrate, not while he sits across from me. My eyes dart in his direction. …
I watch my hand glow, as it forms a green mystical ball of light. My eyes widen with awe. It’s never gotten this powerful. “Now, hold it there,” my mentor, Sage says. “Focus all your energies into the sphere, then when you’re ready, picture what you wish to see.” I close my eyes and imagine …
The fire crackles and the sparks fly, attempting to reach the stars. Mesmerized, I almost stop listening to the wise woman telling the story of how the ancients had woven the cloak Gen wears, into existence. “But first,” the woman says, “we must remove that mark you have, Geneviève.” “How do we do that?” I …
“Who are you?” I look closer. “Wait a minute… you’re—you’re the—” He puts a finger to his lips, gesturing me to be silent. The loud sounds of crows caw outside. We wait together in silence until the calls dissipate. He speaks first, saying, “My name is Arik.” “Yes, I know who you are.” I bow. …
I land on something soft and realize it’s a pile of compost. Gross. A few scratches from a rose bush, planted against the house let’s me know it has lovely thorns too, and I pull two spikes sticking in my skin. “Ouch,” I murmur. The crows circle above and when I look up, I see …
I’m shaken awake by Martha. “It’s time we go.” My eyes sting from the afternoon sun. “What time is it?” “Two.” She goes to my drawers, saying, “We take only the basics. Too much, will slow us down. I suggest you layer up.” “Where are we to go?” “My sister’s place, for now.” “I didn’t …
Her eyes pierce a gaze at me like daggers and I can tell she’s fuming mad. “I told you to bury these mongrels, and you’re prancing the property like you own the place.” “I-I was trying to find a good spot to bury the bodies, Mother.” Her eyes glow blue and I fear she’s going …
It takes some effort to reach the moving fingers beneath the rest of the dead bodies. One by one I drag corpses until I reach a woman. Her hair is red and wavy. She’s young, like me. Maybe sixteen, or seventeen. She can’t possibly be much older than that. If my mother found out one …
Writing what I love, loving what I write ✍️
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The stories of those who walk the fine line between the reality most people know and the supernatural reality on the other side of the blade.
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Remember! Once warmth was without fire.
Actor mom with actor children seeks sanity
By Veronica Cline Barton
Author of "Agency in the Hunger Games"
Get Your Writing Published: April 11, 2026
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