She enjoyed watching the group in the scrying pool. This group was far more interesting than any of the other ones. Though this one had the potential to give her an heir, she knew that she could do this with the next group as well. Could they actually figure out how to get the wish undone? None have in the last two centuries, not since the small German writer. She thought back on him almost fondly for a second.
The witch had not set any major restrictions on the pregnant one. She was not really worried about the group being together. It was amusing to see how scared they were. Immortality was a lonely existence and groups like this gave her something to think about. Maybe if they were successful she would seek a true option for a child to raise. She did not normally seek the interaction with people, as it lessened the ache when they died. There was ways to grant the immortality but she always felt like it was a curse. Retaining just enough humanity to make it unbearable to put another person through the curse she was under meant that she interacted when someone bothered her.
She cursed mildly under her breath about the german who wrote the fairy tale almost two centuries prior. It meant that there was an answer available to be found for those curious. Not that she minded truthfully but it kind of made her feel better to curse at things she couldn’t change. She still felt a fondness for his memory and reached out to carress the hand bound original copies he had given her of each of the volumes he wrote. The problem was that the story was now in the hands of her playthings. She sighed at her own silliness.
She debated if she should try to prevent them from finding her name. Technically according to the rules that bound her magic she could not stop the attempt to undo the wishes….but she could make it harder for them to find the answers. She just debated whether she was wanting to interfere at all. Dwelling on that might make it no longer fun to watch. She looked at the fish tank and wondered if her toy there had been forgotten. A game of wits was only fun if the opponent had some ammo to work with .
watch here for more details about the book as I get closer to its release…
James woke to hearing his wife singing a sweet lullaby to their daughter. He couldn’t help thinking that usually Lara was too busy to take the time. He marveled at the beautiful alto she had. Quietly, he slipped from their bed. He wanted to see the moment without disturbing it.
The lullaby she had chosen not one he had ever heard before. Incredibly sweet, it spoke about the faeries taking away an abused child. It spoke of love and gentleness. Whisking the child to safety, the faeries could keep her safe.
“Sleep softly, little one, Sleep until the morning comes. Sweet baby, worry none, Titania the faery queen here does come. Child forgotten, Child living in life so hard, the faeries will protect you from here on.
Sleep Softly, Little one, Sleep until the morning comes. From here until your life is done, Titania’s care will keep you yon.”
The baby’s room was closer to the stairs. He kept the house spotless, so the floor was soft on his feet as he padded across to the open door of their daughter’s room. Kayla was not quite six months old. His job was able to be worked from home, so he was here all of the time. Lara worked for a busy firm, and was gone more than not. James was grateful to find the door cracked so that he could see in.
The house had been Lara’s dream, the baby his. At one point he had thought that they could share the dreams. Minor fighting in the last six months had occurred as Lara accused him of loving Kayla more than her. James mostly wrote it off as frustration from work, and exhaustion. So to hear Lara singing a lullaby was so sweet, and a relief that he really did not want to disturb it. He could hear Kayla gently cooing in her mother’s arms.
He peeked in shyly, revealing the beautiful long brown hair of his wife as she was sitting in the rocking chair. The chair had been in her family since the revolutionary war. Honestly, it creeped him out. Lara loved it. Said that she felt loved when she sat in it. Lara claimed that the women in her family had always loved their babies there. He worried sometimes that Lara did not love Kayla. To hear her sing such a lovely song warmed his heart a bit. He wanted to clear the air. He wished he knew how to undo the arguments…
Just as James considered going in to talk to Lara, there was a knock at the front door. Not wanting the moment to be disturbed, he hurried down to answer the door. He opened it to find three men, two in police uniform and one in a suit. They started telling him how sorry they were for his loss and how Lara had died in an accident that morning. He denied their condolences. It couldn’t be true, she was singing in the nursery. The lead policeman, the man in the suit, told him it had been verified. That the facts did not lie.
Time stopped, James could no longer hear the singing, he knew that he had to check. James turned and ran back to the nursery… only to find it empty.
I keep a list of my personal books I have written as a guide to remind me of my own accomplishments. There are days where I don’t believe that I am worthy. That list helps me find my own worth on days where it feels like it doesn’t exist.
Now I have been told that my personal book list is daunting. I have been doing this publishing thing since 2010…and I still have a nasty case of imposter syndrome.
Most people who read my blog know that I write as Patricia Harris and as Serena Mossgraves.
Serena Mossgraves currently only has 11 books published. Not terribly daunting, but I can see it would be slightly intimidating .
Patricia Harris however has a bibliography of epic proportions. I counted 68 books published under that name. yeah it’s daunting. I have been doing better than I thought.
Sometimes I just need to remind myself that I have been doing things of worth.
I end up claiming to be a multi media artist and a multi genre writer and I think it confuses people.
so I will try to explain…
Art covers pencil drawings, watercolor painting, clay sculpture, acrylic paintings, digital paintings, cover design, jewelry design, resin art, crochet, plastic canvas, oil pastels and other things that I have yet to explore. I have been known to do candle making, macrame, sewing projects…and each of the projects were for me a form of art.
I know how to make books by hand. I can do Calligraphy. I can bake my own bread. Art is subjective. I am not one to limit myself to one medium.
I list myself as a multi genre writer as I have published nonfiction , poetry, and children’s books as Patricia Harris and horror, Gothic Poetry, and dark fantasy as Serena Mossgraves. I don’t think that is too confusing.
Pattimouse 