Wish Upon A Doughnutfruit

by liezelotte8

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Great stories!

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Paranoia
Danner leaned on his desk and rubbed his temples, hoping to coax his blasting headache away. A tiny trail of steam from a piping hot cup of tea wafted slowly toward his head, imparting a most metallic and bitter scent. He did not particularly enjoy tea, let alone this mauled abomination that the castle's potion-master had brewed for him, but it did work for its intended purpose, presumably.

by likelife96

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They Did Not Speak
Art thou casting thine Spell properly?

by skutterbotched

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Life After the Curse
This article first appeared in “The Faerieland Gazette.”

by black_skull725

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Regar and the Potion
The light from the fire was just bright enough to illuminate Regar’s desk. The parchments were rolled up onto each other, the wet ink smearing at the corners. The fire also shone an orange light onto the other fixtures of Regar’s home: the tall bookshelf filled with every magic book under the sun, potions that had been passed down from masters to apprentices for thousands of years, specimens that seemed to move when just out of eyeshot, a rusty kettle atop an old wooden end table, a thick shaggy coat that hung on the wall beside an intricate walking stick, and, finally, a musty cot, taken from an abandoned cabin and covered with moss to add comfort.

by butterflybandage

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