Nemaiza

He has found another love. A better love. He still visits the greenhouse, still passes time trimming back the greenery so that it cannot...

Spring tries to summon the memory of warmth to keep her steady, but it is feeble and fades in and out.

She clasps her hands together, allowing the brightness to all but blind her, and implores Summer to let her pass safely through her...

It is by chance that Spring hears the truth of Winter’s death. The villagers no longer hold the festival of Turning in her name...

I plunder crab apples from the wayside. They are small and round, each one fitting neatly into the palm of my hand. I hold them up to the...

The world is at odds with itself. She knows it even before she opens her eyes. The air is not so cold...

She dreams of Winter. His blue eyes, his frosted beard, the hint of softness beneath the frozen exterior and hard lines made by...

Time moves on and so does Spring. She readies the land until it is bursting with rich nutrients and oversees from afar the ploughing...

It is a beautiful crown – perhaps her favourite of all the thousands she has crafted over the...

She turns from the shrine with flowers in hand and continues down the mountainside. Her cloak trails behind in the snow...

A high wind gathers up her skirts and wraps them tight about her legs, tears through the braid of her hair...

She feels the moment his rule ends like a thousand bolts of light to the heart, and they break her from her dawn reverie...

The guise of life returns to the ruined hall and so the children of Death wake with new creations in their twisted minds...

The final days of winter pass in a haze of pale mornings she never sees, cold nights she hardly feels and, towards the end, an array of...

Hi! This is a continuation of my previous story, Mother. You might want to read that before you go any further! Night arrives in the...

A witch you will not recognise lives north of the river on the dark side of town. The side where people go to be changed, stolen, or...

Tonight, I lie beside my mother and listen to her imitate the slow breaths of one who is fast asleep. She knows I am not fooled...

She slips through the rain-soaked city in fits and starts; a second spent in the open air of a green square bordered by white townhouses...

The cup gives off the heady perfume of cold nights and blotted stars. She takes it gladly, raises it toward her brother with a smile...