The Bone Witch
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Details about the giveaways at the end of this post! But first, a story to celebrate! It's never felt right not to have a The Girl from the well story out for Halloween, so here's a little something I wrote for the occasion! The Skinless Man An hour...read more
Over the last couple of years, roughly 85% of the questions I get from readers include: is there gonna be another book in your The Girl from the Well series? Please let me know if there's another book out! Will this be a trilogy? Does this mean Tark and Okiku's story...read more
Some happy news! Book(dot)con is an online convention started by Diana Sousa where authors can talk about writing, characters, and stories, and conduct workshops! The first ever con will be held online from June 19-20. 2016, and all you need to do to attend is have...read more
Works in Progress
A list of upcoming works still a.) unfinished; b.) undergoing major revisions, or c.) suffering from acute plotdevelopmentlimboitis. All works still fictional. Especially the parts my mother disapproves of. And the parts that are illegal.
The Bone Witch
And as we watched, a cold, gray hand rose up, scratching and stretching, and gripped the tufts of weeds growing close to the grave. The strange being lifted itself out of its earthly prison with little difficulty, and brushed the dirt off its tall, thin form. My mother fainted.
When it raised its head I saw that it had my brother’s face, drawn and bloodless and dead.
“Tea,” the figure said.
But then it smiled, and it was Fox’s smile, quiet and kind.
The firebird chirped a warning, but the shades paid little heed. So it sighed – a resigned, I-really-did-warn-you-about-this-you-know sigh – and glowed. Its feathers, a variety of yellows and reds and oranges tipped with a subtle silver shimmer, flared. Its majestic tail fanned out like a vestal train, whipping at slow, concentrated intervals. Despite its bravado, it had a wide-eyed curiosity about it suggesting it had not been a firebird for very long and, if the shades had their way, would not be one for much longer.
Pending title: 'Quiet'
There is something in the corridor, a huddled shape against the brief snatches of lightning.
It is creeping along the floor.
It makes unintelligible sounds, mimicking words.
It is crawling toward me.