Welcome to this week’s story, 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.

NEGLECTED VOTE

Bastet’s whiskers twitch in disdain as a beautiful dark-skinned woman enters the room. Her long black hair is hidden behind a golden silk scarf that’s wrapped around her head.

Another one of Ra’s unique fashion choices for Mafdet.

The goddess looks uncomfortable as she is the only one present in human form. Ra, in his falcon form, holds his head high as she glides across the floor to awkwardly stand next to him.

“Ah, looking as beautiful as ever, my dear.”

Bastet has to concentrate to make sure she doesn’t roll her eyes. Her claws scrape against the marble floor in a circle, finally getting their attention.

“Please don’t scratch the floor, Bastet. It’s very unbecoming.”

A mixture of embarrassment and anger makes her fur flush with heat. “My apologies.”

Ra ignores her to admire Mafdet for another few moments before clearing his throat. “Unfortunately, I have not called you both here for a chat. We have a situation in our hands that could turn dire if not dealt with properly.”

Bastet pricks her ears with interest, her earlier irritation regressing. Mafdet looks away as Ra turns to her and Bastet wants to claw her face for such disrespect.

When Ra continues to stare at Mafdet lovingly rather than elaborating, Bastet sighs. “What do you need my assistance with?”

His golden eyes flick back to her, though the love in them is gone. “Apep has somehow escaped from his prison. He is now dwelling in the human world.”

Bastet sucks in a breath. Apep is Ra’s archenemy. The two of them have engaged in too many wars to count since the beginning of time. The dragon god has been defeated every time, thanks to Ra’s quick thinking and resourcefulness. But he was supposed to be guarded by the falcons in Khonsu’s territory.

“How did this happen?” Mafdet asks before Bastet can, her eyes wide.

Ra shakes his head with a grunt. “Khonsu is investigating. But this is a massive failure on his part.”

Bastet feels her claws slide out once more, so she sheathes them. “Are we planning to strike Apep first?”

Ra’s eyes sparkle at her enthusiasm. “That is what we are here for. My most trusted confidante and my protector. Do we strike first, or do we wait for him to attack us? Khonsu and I have voted on this earlier, but I want your opinions also.”

“Attack first,” Bastet says without hesitation. “Lest he think us willing to turn a blind eye to his schemes.”

Mafdet taps her chin thoughtfully with her finger. “Wait. He is arrogant and will expect us to come to him.”

Ra nods his head with a smile. “We also agreed that we would wait. Thank you, Mafdet, for blessing me with your wisdom once more.”

Bastet shakes her head with a scoff. Of course, Ra would agree with Mafdet over his own daughter, his protector. It had never been a fair vote in the first place, just whatever Mafdet wanted, as always. 

 

Jessica Turnbull is an author who mainly writes Young Adult Fantasy. However, she is hoping to also branch into Sci-Fi, Horror and New Adult. Books got her through her darkest years as a teenager, and she hopes that one day her books will inspire young people to keep going. She lives in the UK with her cat, Mishka.

 

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

AVAILABLE HERE!

 

Welcome to this week’s story, 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.

UNDER THE WINTER MISTLETOE

Everyone in Briarfield knew never to stand beneath the mistletoe after dark. It wasn’t for kissing—it was for calling.

Marin ignored that rule.

The night of the Winter Feast, she lingered outside the lodge, the candlelit laughter muffled behind her. Snow drifted silently along the eaves. A single sprig of mistletoe hung over the doorway, pale berries glowing faintly.

“She died under one of those, you know,” someone whispered behind her earlier. “The girl who vanished last winter.”

Marin brushed it off. Ghost stories were for children.

Now, alone in the cold, she felt something shift in the air. Like breath on the back of her neck.

She turned.

No one was there.

The mistletoe berries brightened, pulsing with a heartbeat not her own. A drop of clear sap slid down the stem, thick and shining like a tear.

“Marin…”
The voice was soft, familiar, and wrong.

Her breath hitched. She hadn’t heard that voice in a year.

“Elsa?” she whispered.

Her sister stepped out of the shadows, barefoot on snow, wearing the same dress she’d gone missing in. Her skin was pale as moonlit ice. Frozen mistletoe vines wrapped around her wrists.

“You left me,” Elsa said, her lips barely moving. “Come stand with me. Just for a moment.”

Marin backed away. The snow behind Elsa cracked as if something crawled beneath it.

“Don’t be afraid,” Elsa murmured. “It only hurts the first time.”

Vines shot from the mistletoe sprig above the door, snaring Marin’s wrists, her throat, her waist. The berries burst open like tiny white mouths.

“Come with me,” Elsa said, reaching out a hand that wasn’t entirely human anymore.

Marin screamed, but the snow swallowed the sound.

By morning, the mistletoe sprig had grown another blossom—new, fresh, heavy with frost. And beneath the ice, if one looked closely, a face seemed to sleep inside it.

Briarfield added another name to the stories told each winter.

And the mistletoe listened, hungry for the next.

 

Robyn Wangra is a South African writer, spoken-word poet, and emerging legal scholar studying toward her LLB. Her work explores themes of healing, identity, folklore, and the quiet magic woven through ordinary life. She coaches public speaking and drama, tutors commerce students, and participates actively in leadership and creative initiatives. Robyn’s writing draws inspiration from South African landscapes, emotional resilience, and stories of transformation. She hopes to merge law, literature, and advocacy to create meaningful impact.

 

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

AVAILABLE HERE!

 

Welcome to this week’s story, 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.

THE DEVIL OF THE SEA

The hulking mass rose upon its hind legs and a hideous sight beset Kelin’s eyes as the moonlight peeped out from behind a cloud. This reeking creature seemed to have been flayed alive! No skin enmeshed his colossal form, just writhing sinew and pulsing black blood. What Kelin thought was a man upon a horse appeared to be melded together. The oversized head sported a gnawing mouth spewing smoke and had snakish arms that coiled menacingly. The horse had one glaring red eye fixed upon him. Snarling, Nuckelavee snatched at Kelin, greedily devouring his upper torse in one fell swoop.

 

Maggie D Brace, a life-long denizen of Maryland, teacher, gardener, basketball player and author attended St. Mary’s College, where she met her soulmate, and Loyola University, Maryland.  She has written ‘Tis Himself: The Tale of Finn MacCool and Grammy’s Glasses, and has multiple short works and poems in various anthologies.  She remains a humble scrivener and avid reader.

 

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

AVAILABLE HERE!