Back when I was still in high-school, I wrote and published a short fantasy novel called Legends of Ravengrove. It was supposed to be a bleaker, more cynical take on the sword-and-sorcery genre that was popular at the time. The story revolved around a cast of unlikely adventurers that were […]
Ravengrove Online Read More »
In the spring of 1953, when I was nine years old I saw my brother die. Iâll remember that day for the rest of my life. The memory has never left me and it never will. Part of it is the trauma, the slow, insidious realization that he was gone, that crept into my life afterward. But there is more to it that I donât talk about. Iâve held onto it for years, and I donât want to hold onto it any longer.
In the spring of 1953, when I was nine years old I saw my brother die. Iâll remember that day for the rest of my life. The memory has never left me and it never will. Part of it is the trauma, the slow, insidious realization that he was gone, that crept into my life afterward. But there is more to it that I donât talk about. Iâve held onto it for years, and I donât want to hold onto it any longer.
I was a beautiful young woman once, full of love and life. My lily-white skin was soft and warm, my belly swollen with new life, and my hand held by my husband, Edward. Edward was a good man. We married young, in the spring, when the air was heavy with
I loved traveling. It was for research mostly. I worked as a paranormal investigator, going from place to place with my crew, to search for local âsightingsâ or âotherworldly instancesâ. My team ran a rather well-known YouTube channel, âThe Plasmaticsâ. I guessed it was supposed to be some sort of
