Hawthorn & Ash #98

Welcome to this week’s installment of many micro stories, ranging in length from 100 words to 500 words.

With each story we hope to deliver a little whimsy into the lives of our readers.

HEART OF STONE

I woke up with a start, heart pounding, the remnants of the dream clinging to me like mist.

The same one again—a shadowed figure with wings carved of stone and sorrow, his eyes glowing faintly with some ancient, unknowable emotion. He wasn’t just watching—he was waiting. For me. This time, though, I could feel his presence more clearly, as if the dream was bleeding into reality. A gargoyle, always watching, always waiting.

I sat up, pushing the damp hair off my forehead and glanced at the clock: 3:17 a.m. The dream had jolted me awake at the witching hour. Of course it had. I sighed and flopped back against my pillow, staring at the ceiling of my dorm room. There was no way I was getting back to sleep now.

For weeks, the dreams had been plaguing me, growing more vivid each night. A campus full of magic and secrets, a stone figure watching from the shadows. Sometimes I heard whispers—fragments of spells in a language that felt carved into my bones. Other times, I’d feel the weight of his gaze—glowing eyes that saw through me, as if he knew the parts I tried hardest to hide.

I needed air.

Throwing off my blankets, I padded across the room, my bare feet cold against the wooden floor. I grabbed my favourite hoodie—the one with the Blackwell University crest—and slipped out the door as quietly as possible. The dorm hallways were eerily silent at this hour, the faint glow of emergency lights casting long shadows on the walls.

The loft space on the second floor had become my haven lately. It was a quiet little alcove with overstuffed chairs, a scattering of books left behind by other students, and wide windows overlooking the quad.

I made my way down the stairs; my mind still clouded with the remnants of the dream. Why a gargoyle? What was it trying to tell me? The dreams weren’t just random nightmares. They felt more like… messages. Warnings, maybe.

Professor Harlow’s voice echoed in my head—last week she’d warned us about the sentinels of old magic, stone guardians bound by blood and purpose. Some believed they’d been lovers once—bound to witches whose names had long since faded. I hadn’t dared to ask if any still existed. What if the answer had been yes? I couldn’t afford to draw attention to myself. Not after what happened at my last school.

Reaching the second floor, I pushed open the heavy door. The soft glow of a reading lamp lit the far corner. A stack of books was strewn across the coffee table.

I collapsed into one of the chairs, tucking my legs beneath me and pulling a book off the top of the pile. Ancient Runes of Protection and Binding. Perfect. If I couldn’t sleep, I might as well study. The familiar hum of magic stirred within me, always just beneath the surface, and I shoved it down. No magic tonight. No more dreams.

If you enjoyed this story you can find it and more in the Hawthorn & Ash 2023 anthology.

AVAILABLE HERE!