The snow whipped everything in its path, and in turn, George snapped his tail as if making a stand against the kiss between what was real and what was not. Most of the trees had now passed, although the watchful eyes of the animals were still very much on Prudence as she flapped her wings to clear them of whatever snow had settled. The little hamster she cared for was awake and appeared worried, for he was watching George with widened eyes. He didn’t blame him, for in some other time and place the two of them would’ve been in a game of cat and mouse straight out of a cartoon. Here though, there was no need to panic, as the rules that governed life had long since vanished. They had crossed no line in the sand. If there ever were such a line, it would’ve been in the mind, and George knew that such lines were as vague as the reasons we often gave to not seek them out in the first place. The poor hamster had crossed the blurred line without even having tried. It could either have been seen as a curse or a gift—it depended on how you saw things—and he had a feeling the one she called Herbie would be just fine. As she shook and shivered and danced upon her tiny feet, he too gave himself a shake before narrowing his eyes. Aware of his gaze, she waited for George to speak.

“There are doors, Prudence. So many, many doors.”

A Journal for Damned Lovers UK

A Journal for Damned Lovers US

Anthology UK / Anthology US