She stared in the mirror, one hand holding the ends of her hair, the other running a brush as gently as possible over its knotted curls; sparks crackled green and sharp, and she didn’t want to burn down the apartment complex. Continue reading
sales
The Real Nanjo Castille
Blat of mule’s bray, and Nanjo rattled into the village square. People grumbled, crowding the buckboard wagon. They’d been waiting since dawn. The stench of unwashed clothes hung heavy in the morning heat. Continue reading