Author
Michelle Muenzler
Not Like the Stories
When the princess falls asleep, it's not like in the stories. She doesn't yawn ever so slightly, then stretch into her slumber with the slow deliberateness of a cat. Nor, as the curse slips through the prick of her thumb, does magic spark the air around, or the world spring into…
The Marionette's Daughter
***Editor's Note: Adult Story*** She'd been born with strings. With little wooden arms. With her happy cherub face smiling a painted smile. "What did you expect?" asked the doctors as the new parents looked on in horror. In particular, her father. Her parents took her home…
Bitter is the Sea, and Bright
When the Isperfell come to our village of Merse by the Sea, it is not with their delicate bone-lattice knives readied and their faces painted for war. No, they approach the old way. Slowly and from just down the shore, emerald sea water cascading from their bright scales and…
The Inquisitor's Chair
There's a joke the Ja'deen used to tell, back when they first broke past the smoking ruins of our city walls and claimed our land their own: How many rebels does it take to make wood bleed? The answer, of course, is however many the Ja'deen inquisitors can get their hands on.…
In the Bottom of the Tower Where All Beasts Roam
In the forest, there sits a tower, and in the bottom of that tower, a prince full of beasts. They are not small beasts, by any means, but a prince's heart is the kingdom, and as such there is always room for more. The prince spends much of his day singing over the beasts'…
We Always Remember, Come Spring
"You know," Erd says, sipping cautiously from his cup, "I heard this may be the last year for the races." I roll my eyes. "They say that every year." I glance down at my own cup but don't drink. Not yet. I'm a bit of a traditionalist when it comes to the races, preferring to…
One More Bite
"The bread is good," our latest guest says, nearly choking on the words as she tries to force the lump down her throat. I don't know her name--names are considered impolite at the giant's table. Our host gestures at an iron bowl. "And the soup? What do you think of the soup?"…
An Act of Consumption, in Two Parts
In the basement, there is candy. Boxes teetering atop boxes, overloaded with gum gums and chew worms and those little nougat-filled eyeballs that blink when you stare overlong; with honeyed do's and honeyed dont's; with tar braids and clots of candied floss. The basement has all…
Under a Sky of Knives
"I'll kill him," Helene says. "I'll rip out his heart and throw it to the crows." Autumn winds tear at her hair, lashing her face with black tendrils. We stand, my sister and I, simultaneously together and apart, her hands clenching the cold stone of the public garden's only…
On the Sweetness of Children
The princess waves her pudgy arms and regurgitates half-digested milk into a puddle across her christening robe. Above her, the Green Fairy clutches the edge of the crib and leans in. "For my gift--" A spasm shudders through the Green Fairy's wings, and droplets of sweat bead…