Tag Archives: Brooksie C. Fontaine

Gentlefolk

The rules circle through her mind like a record left spinning. And yet, here she is – neither possessed nor deranged nor suicidal – staring down at the moss-covered tracks she’s learned all her life to avoid. Misty air oozes … Continue reading

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The New Gods

Everywhere you go, there are gods new and old. Fat little house gods, born of happy homes and plump with domestic worship, to be cupped in prayer like dumplings. Elephantine gods of wisdom at the heart of every library, with … Continue reading

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Gunpowder Sigil

In the town where I grew up, things sometimes came out of the desert. Things that flew, slithered, and crawled. That skittered on a thousand legs, or inched along on none at all. Some as small as gadflies, some big … Continue reading

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