A Bookish Blog Hop: Winter Hop 2019! Day 16--A Book You'd Like To Get Gifted For Christmas

"All I want for Christmas is a few great books,

a few great books, 

a few great books...

Gee if I could only have a few great books,

Then I could have a Merry Christmas!"

Erica Robyn www.ericarobynreads.com

Oh boy! I’ve texted my husband photos of so many books I’d love to get for Christmas! I think one at the top of my list is The Girl Who Loved Tom Gordon by Stephen King, the pop up version. This is one of my all time favorite books, so when I saw someone posting about a pop up version, it immediately jumped to the top of my wishlist!




Jo Linsdell www.JoLinsdell.com

This is a tough question because I want all the books… literally ALL of them. High up on my list is box sets though. I have a bit of a thing for box sets. I love it when I have a full collection for a series. I also hate it when I buy books from a series separately and end up with different covers or trim sizes. I’d love to get the Harry Potter box set as I’ve yet to read all the books in the series and that’s just not good enough. I’d also like some more series by Rick Riordan. Anyone that knows me knows I’m obsessed with the Percy Jackson series. My box set for that gets pride of place of my shelves. I’d love to read his other series too so the box set of one of those would be awesome.



Leslie Conzatti www.upstreamwriter.blogspot.com

I’m with Jo! I’d love to get all the books. My family was a little bit miffed that my birthday wish list was 90% books… Mostly the remaining books in series where I’d picked up the first book… So of course, the presents I received were the very few NON-BOOK ITEMS on that list…


But chief among them was the complete series of The Invisible Library by Genevieve Cogman. The covers are just too dang gorgeous, and I freaking loved the first book, haven’t yet read any of the others, but that’s definitely something I’d be overjoyed to find under the tree come Christmas day!

Eline - LovelyAudiobooks.info

I couldn’t quite convince my family what a fantastic gift Audible gift cards are, so I usually just buy my own books. But this year, I’ve added print editions of my absolute favorite Urban Fantasy series, The Imp by Debra Dunbar, to my wishlist. I love these books so very much and it would be great to see them on my bookshelves. There haven’t been many new additions to my shelves in the last couple of years since I have completely embraced digital reading. But I want to change that now and get print copies of my favorites, to support the authors and for the nice feeling of looking at the books I love.

Kim www.writersideoflife.com

The last couple of months have been really busy for me so I haven’t read as much as I’d like! For that reason, I would love to get a book for Christmas - a beautiful hardcover that I could put on my shelf and stare at… I mean, read. I would love to read The Testaments by Margaret Atwood or Exhalation, the new collection of short stories by Ted Chiang. Either of these would be really meaty books I could sink my teeth into over the summer here in New Zealand.




Becki Svare-A Book Lover’s Adventures (www.abookloversadventures.com)

I feel like I always have a book or two sitting in my Amazon cart just in case anyone wants to buy me a book, lol. So far, no one has magically come in and bought my cart for me, but one can always hope!
Right now the book in my cart is Praying with Jane: 31 Days Through the Prayers of Jane Austen by Rachel Dodge. Another blogger that I follow posted about this book last month, and it drew me in. Not only do I enjoy Jane Austen immensely, but I’ve been wanting a new devotional to read. So, this one seems to fit the bill nicely.

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What about you? What book would you most like to unwrap on Christmas? Comment and let us know what book you're wishing for!

Follow the Blog Hop via any of the links above for more bookish shenanigans!

Serial Saturday: "Red, The Wolf" Part 11

Part 11

Night descended over Queston, yet the Garrity household remained brightly lit.

"Deborah," Burch urged, "Come to bed."

The silver-haired woman sat by the fire, rocking back and forth with anxious energy, her eyes fixed on the front door. "But what if she's been killed? What if that wolf got her at last? It's been three days, Burch--she's never away that long!"

Henny lay curled on the sleeping mat behind the curtain that separated the "bedrooms" from the rest of the house. She had "gone to bed" a while ago, but sleep had eluded her ever since the encounter with Red in the alley, and the fight she'd had against Marc. He'd almost killed her--and it was all Henny's fault! How had she not seen his volatile temper before? How had he convinced her to trust him so blindly? Had Red, in her pursuit of the white wolf, accidentally encountered Marc in the mountains, and he'd taken his revenge?

The candles were lit, but no Wolf came... Where was the Guardian, and what would Queston do without her? >>>>>>>>>>>>>

Red slowly regained consciousness, still breathing deeply--though she smelled the scents of normal air--herbs, fresh dirt, morning dew, and the woody smell of rafters and floors and furniture.

She opened her eyes and saw Greta standing over her, as she lay on her side. Red shifted her gaze to her limbs extended before her--and saw, as she had for the past three mornings, a pair of wolf paws. She lifted her head and whined in confusion. Why had the potion not worked? Would she be a wolf forever?

Greta's eyes watched Red closely, as she gently stroked the wolf's side. "You are wounded," she remarked.

Red didn't flinch as the woman actually extended a finger toward the section of unmarked fur, touching what appeared to be a perfectly healthy limb. "Right there," she said.

What should have been a light touch was so precise that Red felt the thrust of a knife-blade right underneath it, clear to the bone. It felt like getting stabbed by Marc all over again--but why? Had his blade carried some kind of poison she didn't know about?

"That's why the potion didn't work," sighed the thaumaturge. "There is something about that wound you carry upon your human form that would kill you if you were to shift before it is dealt with. In this sense, the blockage is saving your life--but I'll bet you still want to be able to shift into human at some point, don't you?"

Red lay her head back down again and gave a grunt, flopping her tail on the table behind her for good measure. She did indeed wish to be human, by any means necessary.

"As I expected," Greta mused. "I'll have to go deeper to find the source of the injury, and it will hurt--but you can trust me."

Red lay still, and turned her mind to memories of Queston. She felt Greta's magic slicing into her like a handful of the sharpest knives imaginable, but she deliberately detached from that sensation, focusing intently on seeing Burch and Deborah again, feeling Deborah's warm embrace, and Burch's weathered, rough hands rubbing her shoulder proudly. She thought about seeing her old den again, and the pile of mixed furs, the feeling of bathing in the quiet mountain stream and washing Rascal's stench and filth off her body completely.

Rascal... There was still the matter of Justin stealing from Queston that Red wanted him to answer for--but he couldn't do that from the Callica prison, and she couldn't very well call him to account while still a wolf. She needed her human body back, and soon!

"All finished!" Greta announced, moving away to wash her bloody hands. Red looked down to see her side all stitched and bandaged closed, with a blood-soaked shard of metal resting on the table beside her. She sniffed at it. The blood gave off a coppery smell, but there was another scent underneath, one that gave the Red Wolf a sense of real danger.

"It's silver, all right," Greta confirmed, returning to her side. "I'm guessing you were fighting somebody, and a piece of their silver knife must have broken off in your shoulder. You didn't know it, and shifted shortly thereafter, and in the process, the shard slipped into the muscle very close to your heart, where I found it. The way it was situated, any attempt at shifting would have just rammed the shard deeper into your heart and killed you at once. You're lucky you found me when you did--a wound that bad sustained in another form would have slowly weakened you to death, anyway; not to mention the psychological dangers of spending too much time in one form." She stroked the top of Red's head. "Are you ready to try shifting again?"

In answer, Red the Wolf closed her eyes and recalled what it felt like to be human, the shape and balance of her human body, the feel of her clothes... A shiver ran the length of her spine, and she felt her bones twisting and stretching...

When she opened her eyes, Greta smiled.

"Welcome back, Miss Red," she said, reaching out to lift the human hand and support the human shoulder.

Red sighed with relief and spoke her first words in three days: "At last!" Her own voice had a strange timbre to it, after not hearing herself speak for so long.

Greta eyed the bloodstained tear in Red's sleeve, and noted the scar that now marked the skin beneath. "Aye, that looks like just the culprit," she mused.

Red nodded and shifted her cloak to cover it. "You were right, it was a fight," she mused. "But I won, so I don't think the person responsible will ever want to cross paths with me again." She stood on her own two legs, feeling relief at being able to change positions freely once more. She grasped the apothecary's hands. "Thank you so much for helping me. I might have been trapped for the rest of my life if it weren't for you."

Greta nodded. "It was whatever fate brought you to me, that you have to thank. Not many people know of my thaumaturgical skills--and certainly a wolf wouldn't need an apothecary to tend a wound that doesn't exist."

Red chuckled wryly. "It was a long road that brought me here," she replied, "and now I need to be getting back to my home." She pulled out the coin purse still in her pocket, and offered a few gold pieces to Greta. "Thank you for your remedy."

Greta's wrinkled hands pushed her own back. "No need, my dear; the work I have done is free of charge."

Red shrugged and headed for the door, her mind already trying to work out how she would manage to find Justin's wagon again.

"What about your wolf?" Greta's words arrested her.

Red stopped in her tracks, just upon the threshold. Rascal... He might be able to lead her to the wagon... or perhaps she could use him as a bargaining chip to ensure Justin's cooperation. On the other hand, he might prove to be less compliant with her, considering their newly-developed familiarity, as much as it rankled her.

Haven't I had enough dealings with that mangy wolf? her inner voice moaned.

The soft clink of vials and jars behind her triggered an idea. She turned back to Greta, and placed the gold coins back on the counter.

"Tell me this," she mused. "Can you brew a potion that would temporarily turn a wolf into a human, even if they're not a shifter?"

Greta rolled her eyes up in thought for a long moment. "I suppose I could make it work--I don't know just how temporary it might be, if we're dealing with a non-shifter..."

Red nodded, pushing the coins toward her. "That is the potion I would like to buy."

Greta accepted the payment with the air of an experienced businesswoman. "Then we have a deal."

By the time the sun reached midday, Red departed from Greta's shop with a vial of fresh potion in her pocket and Rascal on a leash trotting beside her.

He whimpered when she came out to retrieve him, and pulled a lot on the leash, but Red used her wolfish sensibilities to establish her dominance over him, and for the most part, he didn't cause too much trouble. Every so often, he whimpered and pulled, but one subtle growl and a yank on the leash brought him back to heel.

"We need to see about breaking your master out of jail," she muttered under her breath. "And if we can do that while you're still a wolf, so much the better--but if I need another pair of hands to pull this off, I won't hesitate to use this potion on you!"

Her words seemed to have no effect. Rascal seemed only to understand that her tone and inflection meant business, without comprehending her exact words.

Red made her way to the squat stone structure that housed the city's prisoners. Tiny windows lined the top, and she was fairly certain, by the amount of debris lining the openings, that they had been deliberately placed to allow light into the otherwise dark space, but remain inaccessible as points of escape. She could hear the clanking of chains within. Red squared her shoulders, marched to the gate that was the only point of entry, and declared to the guard, "There was a prisoner just arrested this morning, and I require that he be released into my custody."

The guard raised his head a little and let his eyes wander up to her face. "You and whose authority?"

Red thought back to the name Justin had mentioned. "Lord Brennan wishes to make an example of him." She leaned in. "You will be rewarded handsomely," she murmured, with a wink.

The man's eyes glinted, but in that moment, Rascal tried to take advantage of Red's distraction and pull back again. This attracted the attention of the guard, who screwed up his face to squint at the white wolf.

"Say..." he drawled slowly, "I know that animal--" He scowled up at Red. "What did you say your name was?" Behind him, the other guards were beginning to straighten and take interest.

Alarm bells went off in Red's mind. Her instinct told her that the situation was no longer in her favor. She pulled her cloak close around her and hoped that the onlookers hadn't gotten a very clear view of her face. "That is not your concern. Good day, sir!" She turned heel and marched out of sight.

Ducking into an alleyway some distance down the road, Red leaned against the wall with a groan.

"Great," she grunted, as Rascal started pulling on the leash again. "My best chance of finding that wagon and getting the things back to Queston, ruined because you had to be so blasted unforgettable!"

Rascal, indeed! The white wolf sensed her anger, but his response was to fawn and cower at her feet.

Red stood there and watched the people of Callica walk by. The poorer classes tended to walk with their heads down, reserving acknowledgement for only the upper-class people walking by with their entourage of servants. She watched a high-bred lady pass by a string of market stalls. The people who saw her immediately bowed, while she indicated her wishes to her servant with a mere motion, and he paid out monies from her purse and carried the items she wanted. No one gave him a second glance.

She looked down at the wolf beside her.

"Rascal," she said, watching him pick up his head and tilt his ears forward at the sound of his name, "I think it's time I gave Justin a taste of his own medicine." If he wanted to use shapeshifting to control her--perhaps he needed to learn what would happen when someone used shape-shifting to exert control over him.

Red used wood scraps and a couple of discarded stones to start a small fire, upon which she placed the vial of potion. As before, the potion began to simmer and steam, and when she saw the smoke change color (as Greta had instructed her), she took it off the flame and pressed the mouth of the vial against the muzzle directly in front of Rascal's nose.

The white wolf reacted with fear and distaste, whimpering and pulling, flailing his paws to get away from the heavy smell, but Red held onto his collar, snarling at him just the way she might do as a wolf. Finally, the vial's contents finished evaporating, and Red could use both hands to hold Rascal in place as the wolf still thrashed and whined. As suddenly as the fit had begun, Rascal came to a dead stop, gave one long and terrible howl, and as he stretched his head back, Red could see patches of human skin appearing from under his fur. He howled again, and she saw his limbs stretching into arms and legs, fingers and toes forming at the ends of his paws. 

By this time, she also realized that, without being a shifter, Rascal wouldn't necessarily be clothed when he transformed, as she was. Quickly, Red removed her cloak and threw it over him, using the wide swath of fabric to hide his form from prying eyes attracted by the noise, and also to keep him under her control. At last, the thrashing stopped, and she could feel his human form under the cloak. She pulled back the hood to survey her work.

A man stood in her grasp, a bit younger than Marc, bare-faced, with bright-golden eyes, and a shock of hair as white as his fur had been. The collar still hung around his neck, if a bit looser, but the muzzle had fallen of completely.

"Um--um--um!" the man whimpered, pawing at her with his hands as his new human body quivered under the cloak.

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"The Sheriff's Showdown" Excerpt: A Home In Phantom Gulch

Two ladies, wearing ample hoop skirts and billowing blouses, stood at the front of a square white building, waving and greeting passersby. When they saw us, the smiles disappeared, and they dared to approach us.

"Oh, Sheriff Coldwell!" said the lady on the right. "How are you feeling today?"

"Oh, not too bad, Prudence," Jerry responded jovially. "And yourself?"

The women gave me pointed looks.

"Trudy," Prudence leaned over and gave a loud whisper. "I do believe the Sheriff is under some kind of terrible threat of duress. I greatly fear for his safety and his sanity."

"Aye, sister," Trudy murmured back. "Either that or the poor man must be going blind, for surely no one with his authority and stature would dare to--"

Jerry whirled around so fast that I nearly collided with him. "All right!" he barked at the nosy ladies. "Let's have it out, ladies. What seems to be the problem?"

Trudy and Prudence stared at him with wide, owlish eyes--which they subtly shifted in my direction.

Jerry snorted. "Her? This is your problem?" He placed a hand on my shoulder. I noticed his grip wasn't rough or heavy. "This is why you question my competence? Because of a girl?"

The owl eyes blinked.

"Oh!"said Prudence.

"It's a girl, is it?" said Trudy.

Jerry wagged his head. "Of course she is! What else could she be?"

He meant it as a rhetorical question, but from the deep pink flush on both faces in front of me, I guessed that I probably wouldn't like the answer they had to that question.

I was right.

"Well, to be sure," Prudence stammered, "if I would have seen this... girl... walking down the street, I might have mistaken her for a rather unkempt man, with the strange trousers she wears."

"Or an escaped convict," Trudy added quickly.

Jerry threw back his head and roared with laughter. "You worried that I'd somehow gotten friendly with a convict?"

They returned to blinking owl eyes.

Jerry finished laughing and mopped his face with the bandana. "Oh, that is wonderful," he sighed. "Tell me, ladies--if this girl is an escaped convict... How far away is the nearest prison?"

"There's the State Penitentiary just outside of Junction," Trudy volunteered.

I had a sneaking suspicion that these would be exactly the type of ladies to keep themselves and others appraised of such matters.

"Junction is well-nigh fifty miles away," Jerry stated, "and there are other towns much closer to it, in pretty much any other direction except toward Phantom Gulch--so why, if she escaped the prison at Junction, would she bother walking fifty miles into the middle of nowhere, just to be here in Phantom Gulch?"

In perfect unison, the sisters' mouths dropped open. They gaped like fish for several silent moments, then turned about-face and flounced back into town to harry some other unsuspecting individual.

Jerry nodded to me and pointed to the road. "Best keep moving, Laura."

I grinned as we walked. "Wow," I said. "I'm impressed at the way you handled those two fussbudgets."

Jerry chuckled. "That's just Tru and Pru, our resident spinsters who make it their business to air their approval and disapproval of everyone else's business. If you ever wanted a source that knew everything about everybody, that would be Tru and Pru." He glanced over and gave me a wink. "Which is why I'm glad you're here."

Glad? "Why are you glad, exactly?"

"We don't get a lot of newcomers around here. The community in Phantom Gulch is pretty tight. News travels fast, and my wife and I have spent the last couple years learning the ins and outs of everybody who lives here. You? You're something no one has seen before, one those two nosy biddies can't figure out--and I got to you first, so I'll know more about you than they ever hope to!" He kept walking in long, easy strides, even whistling a little as he went, but I felt my stomach knotting up inside me.

You won't be finding out too much about me, I hope! I thought to myself.

[...]

Silence descended between us, almost as thick as the two-inch ruff on my skirt. Jerry didn't once take his eyes off me, but it was a calculating, keen stare.

"Speaking of where you come from," Jerry broke the silence with the words that made my skin go all cold and clammy. "I don't believe you ever explained to me where precisely that is. I know it's not the State Penitentiary--so where are you really from, Laura?" He rested his elbows on the arm rests and leaned his fingertips against one another, like a long, peaked roof.

I could feel the color mounting in my cheeks. This was just like having to explain my arrival to Commander Gerald--except I happened to be slightly more familiar with the cultural and social expectations of a Wild West town, as opposed to a foreign space cruiser. I just hoped I could make it convincing enough to remember it when necessary, without tripping myself up. Probably the fact that Jerry wasn't as suspicious of me as Commander Gerald was helped my case greatly!

"As you say, I haven't come from a very long ways away," I said. "I only started walking this morning, from my family's home in the bluffs," I jerked my thumb in the correct direction. "We've lived there pretty much on our own for a few years, until..." I let my voice fade off as if tortured by the memory of something traumatic--but what was really torturing me in that moment was trying to come up with a suitable scenario that made sense for a girl like me, dressed like I was, to be walking all by herself in the cliffs!

"Until what?" Jerry challenged. He wasn't going to let me off easy. "Did Big Tom and his bandits raid your homestead in the mountains?"

I nodded, still keeping the pitiful expression on my face. The manufactured tale came tumbling out of my mouth. "They attacked just the other night, just as we were sitting down to dinner. Father heard shouting, and went to see what was the matter, and when he opened the door, there was our modest vegetable garden, in flames. He grabbed the gun and went out to defend himself, while Mother and I hid in a room at the back of the house. We heard gunshots, and the next thing we know, the bandits are swarming the house, looting and looking for us." I forced myself to picture this fictional scene, playing up the drama to produce the expected emotional response. I kept my eyes wide, testifying to the horror of it all.

"Of course they came into the room and knew we were there right away, but Mother stood up to them. She burst out of our hiding place, yelled at me to run, and grabbed the kerosene lantern by the bed, smashing it on the floor." I could feel a lump forming in my throat, and I just kept thinking about how I would feel if I witnessed my own parents, dying at the hands of a bunch of heartless thugs. "Everything else that happened that night was a blur. I got out of the house while the bandits were all shouting at the fire that was spreading all over the place. I remember seeing the horses waiting for the riders, and although I hadn't really ever ridden a horse before, I know I did try." I took a deep, calming breath, and continued. "It's a lot harder than it looks in the movies, to just get up and ride a horse, let me tell you! It wasn't a few yards before the horse bucked me off, and I had to run the rest of the way, to get away from those bandits and the burning house and my dead parents..." I blinked and returned to the present scenario, which honestly didn't seem anymore real than the story I'd just made up in my head. "And at last I found my way to Phantom Gulch, where you saved my life from a runaway wagon."

"Oh!" cried a voice just behind me, and I turned to see Shirley standing in the doorway, the apron hanging over her clothes lightly dusted in flour, and her face a little smudged. She stared at me, her wide eyes brimming with tears. "You poor dear!" She murmured. "I had no idea! Losing your parents and your home in one night... No wonder you weren't paying attention to your surroundings in this unfamiliar place!" She rushed forward and grabbed my hands, pulling me to my feet and throwing her arms around me, floured apron and all. "I want you to know that from now on, you'll always have a home in Phantom Gulch, as long as Jerry and I are here!"

I didn't feel any awkwardness about hugging her back. "Thank you," I said.

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Serial Saturday: "Red, The Wolf" Part 10

Part 10

"Stop where you are!" said one lawman, even though Justin hadn't yet made his move. "You're under arrest for the trafficking of stolen goods!"

Justin looked around. The fascinated crowd was growing thicker by the minute. One by one, all his avenues of escape were being cut off, as the constables were nearly within arm's reach. Justin made his choice. Dropping the leashes, he aimed a swift kick at Rascal's fluffy behind and shouted, "RUN!"

Rascal took off like a shot, with Red following close behind--not because she'd been commanded to, mind, but because the white wolf happened to be headed straight for the most available path of egress.

Everyone was so wrapped up in seeing the slippery criminal get arrested that no one paid attention to the two muzzled animals racing together. Rascal ducked around wagons and between legs in the crowded streets. Red followed, lengthening her stride till she was neck-and-neck with him. Her shoulder screamed for mercy, but Red focused on her goal. She needed the mutt, just until she could be human again.

Red kept pace with Rascal until he veered off-course, headed for the front gate of the city instead of down toward the apothecary. The moment he did, she surged alongside him and lunged for the leash, catching her paw in the loop on the end and stopping short.

Rascal flipped head-over-hindquarters at the sudden jerk on his neck. He tugged and pulled against her, but Red stood firm and held fast, stepping on the leash with her uninjured paw for good measure. When Rascal finally stopped tugging and looked at her with a flurry of pitiful whines, Red gave a low growl and snarled at him.

Let go! Master said run! he whimpered.

I am in charge. I am your master! Do as I say, she snapped. She maintained her grip on the leash as she bent down, getting her paw up behind her head and scraping forward until she could wriggle the muzzle's straps over her ears. Justin had been putting them on for show, anyway, as a reassurance for the humans, so it wasn't actually very tight. Now that her mouth was free, Red could grip the leash in her mouth, putting Rascal entirely at her mercy.

Rascal understood, and he stopped fighting. He allowed Red to lead him back down the road they should have gone down, sniffing all the way until her nose caught the scent of thread and cloth--the smell of Deborah Garrity's rag-bag, where she often let Red curl up and sleep as a tiny pup. Red blinked away the nostalgic memory and focused on making her way to where the scent came strongest. Truegood Millinery, the shingle proclaimed. Red paused in the alleyway behind the shop to scent the air again, this time looking for the yeasty aroma of bread and flour. They were within sight of the building when Rascal's tail began to wag in a most unseeming manner for a wolf. Red rolled her eyes as she realized it had taken him this long to finally smell where they were going.

Rascal whimpered at her again, this time pulling her toward the bakery faster than Red's injured leg could keep up.

Hungry, his pleas proclaimed. Food want now!

Red lifted her lip and snarled, tugging on the leash to get him away from the pile of waste beside the back door. I'm still in charge, she asserted. Keep moving!

She paused beside the bakery, scanning every inch of her surroundings to find the apothecary. Across the street and sandwiched between a tavern and a general store was a small shop front with a narrow door and a single window. There wasn't even room for a shingle or a sign like the others had. Rather, the apothecary identified herself by a simple etching of a mortar and pestle over the door.

Red gave Rascal's leash a tug, and the two wolves trotted across the road and into the apothecary's shop.

Inside the tiny shop, small shelves filled with little bottles and boxes of every shape filled the walls. In one sniff, Red detected the apothecary herself. She stood behind a wide counter, weighing out herbs into a small jar. Red felt Rascal twitch, and felt the small tug that told her that he was in the mood to run straight out of there at the next available opportunity. She couldn't drop the leash, for fear he might escape--but then how would she get the woman's attention?

Rascal's twitching and scratching on the floorboards made enough racket to prompt the woman to turn. Her eyes widened at the sight of two fierce animals in her shop.

"What do we have here?" She cried, grabbing for the nearest item--a wicker broom. "Shoo!" she cried, gripping the broomstick and keeping a safe distance. "Get out of here!"

Rascal again turned toward the door and tugged, but Red held fast. As she had done with the man who gave them directions, she maintained the woman's gaze. Those haunting blue eyes were mesmerizing. She could see generations of knowledge in the lines of the old woman's face--it wasn't round and smooth and hearty like Deborah Garrity's face. The apothecary's face was lined, discolored, and gaunt. Her skin and the silvery hairs peeking out from under her woven headscarf belied her age, while her eyes bespoke an ageless vitality, the sort of youthfulness that only strengthens with age rather than fading.

Red heard the woman give a long, slow breath. "Wait a moment," she said.

The young lycanthrope remained sitting, with the leash in her mouth, as the apothecary came out from behind the counter.

The old woman appraised both animals, squinting deeply as if to peer into their souls.

"There is something different about one of you," she said. "And the one who understands what I'm saying will acknowledge that I'm right."

Red perked up, angling her ears forward and nodding her head. Beside her, Rascal had suddenly taken a keen interest in the woman crouched before them, and he began nodding his head as well.

The apothecary still looked from one wolf to the other, as if she sought some kind of sign in the response of the shapeshifter that wouldn't be present in the natural wolf.

"So you both understand my words. Are both of you shapeshifters?" asked the old woman.

Red immediately wagged her head back and forth, answering in the negative. Rascal copied her movements exactly, as if this was all a game and not the difference between survival and certain doom. Red bared her fangs and growled at him, but he only whimpered and tilted his head playfully.

"Are you here of your own volition?" the apothecary asked again, still dividing her attention between the wolves, when Red desperately wished for attention to be on her. This time, she waited to see what Rascal would do if she didn't respond first--the miscreant dared to bob his head up and down in imitation of a nod! This was too much for Red. She dropped the leash and stepped on it, holding it firmly in place while she snarled and lunged for the troublemaking pup.

"Hold!" The apothecary commanded, and though she did not touch either of them, Red felt her authority deep inside her veins. This woman really was a thaumaturge, practitioner of blood magic! Red felt her muscles ache and throb with every beat of her heart, and the pain in her shoulder increased until it felt like it would burst at any moment. Through the pulsing haze, Red saw Rascal whimpering and fawning in response to some stimulus, and she reasoned that he must have felt a similar sensation, though on a much different level, being neither a shapeshifter nor fatally wounded.

The thaumaturge gripped the leashes of both wolves. "This is very confusing," she remarked. "But I have one more test for the two of you."

She picked up the leashes and led the two wolves out to a small yard behind her shop. The ground was dirt here, a soft clay easy to dig in. She anchored two stakes into the ground and tied a leash around each. Red and Rascal both watched her expectantly. Finally, the thaumaturge stood back.

"Write your name," she instructed.

Red felt a rush of pleasure--finally, something she could do that a natural wolf could not! Her wolf muscles were different than her human muscles, but the same brain directed both bodies, and Red knew she could make her wolf-paws do the movements necessary. Carefully, she extended her claws and scraped out the rough shapes of the letters "R-e-d" in the soft earth. Beside her, Rascal happily dug a shape that looked more like a warped hole of some sort.

The apothecary smiled at last, and leaned forward to untie the rope from around Red's neck. The lycanthrope shook her head, grateful to be free of the offending thing. She walked beside the apothecary back into the shop, leaving Rascal to scrape and dig in the dirt to his dimwitted heart's content.

Inside, the apothecary turned back to Red.

"So, Red," she mused, "that's an unusual name--but since you happen to be a wolf just now, I gather you are a very unusual person. My name is Greta. It's been a long time since I've seen a lycanthrope, particularly one that is trapped in their animal form." She began searching the shelves behind the counter. Finally, she pulled out a small jar with a pale-grey powder inside. She sprinkled this into a pestle, with some red flakes that smelled like crimson hoods, and a few other powders.

"There are a few reasons a shifter might be blocked from shifting," Greta mused as she added the dry ingredients to a small pot of liquid over a tiny fire. "Sometimes physical wounds, mental trauma, or even the wrong emotional state could keep a person in one form or another." She stirred the potion, and Red watched as it gave off a pale lavender steam. Greta finally nodded and lifted the pot off the flame. "You don't look wounded, and your mental faculties seem intact, so whatever it is, this should override everything and force a transformation."

Red remained calm as Greta brought the pot directly underneath her nose.

"Breathe deep," the thaumaturge instructed. "Focus on taking the scent all the way into your brain."

Red closed her eyes and obeyed. For several moments, the only thing she acknowledged was the smell of crimson hoods and the woods of Queston, tinged with the scent of sheep's wool and wolf-pelt. She did as she was told and took it all the way in. As she breathed, she felt an awakening in her mind, a definite ripping sensation, like every time she'd shifted in the past year, all rolled into a single massive upheaval. She inhaled the smell, and hardly noticed when her legs collapsed and sent her crashing to the floor.

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A Bookish Blog Hop: Winter Hop 2019! Day 6--A Book They Made Into A Film

Danielle - Snatched Words www.snatchedwords.com

I like both the book and film versions of Les Miserables by Victor Hugo. I loved the novel part of Les Miserables, which tells the intertwining stories of Jean Valjean and a host of other characters in the lead up to the Paris Rebellion. It’s heartbreaking, romantic and epic. About a quarter of the book reads more like essays though and I found these hard going. Partly I like the film because it misses out the essay parts of the book. So the film is more of a loose re-interpretation of the story, rather than an attempt to re-tell the same story in a film version. It also has great songs. The only analogy that springs to mind is Frozen and The Snow Queen by Hans Christian Andersen, which probably says a lot about the type of films I’ve watched recently!

Leslie Conzatti (Me!)

I’m going to skip over the obvious answers like Hunger Games and Divergent and The Lord of The Rings/The Hobbit and The Chronicles of Narnia, since of course those titles were adapted--that was the whole reason they were going to be popular!

Instead, I’m going to list some books that became films that I’ve both read and watched.

There is The Book Thief, which was a book that enthralled me and taught me to love prose as an art form as much as a medium of communication. The film was so brilliantly crafted, I remember watching it with a friend and we got so into it we were holding each other and bawling by the end! Also a classic favorite that I know practically by heart, The Princess Bride--the only way an adaptation can top it is if the person who writes the original book also happens to be in the filmmaking business and writes the screenplay as well. There’s The Girl on The Train which I picked up expressly because there was the film adaptation coming out and I was intrigued by the idea--my first experience with the “unreliable narrator” style and I definitely got taken for a ride, right up to the very end!

I feel like I want to mention a book for which I’m looking forward to the film adaptation: Artemis Fowl. I don’t even mind that it’s Kenneth Brannaugh at the helm. I enjoyed that series quite a lot and I am eager to see it brought to life!

Kaili www.entertaininglynerdy.com

I always love it when books are turned into films. I like to see if the characters and scenes are how I imagined them. Unfortunately, most movies that are based off books I usually don’t like as well as the book. I’m pretty sure most book bloggers are that way though.

The book and movie If I Stay is one adaptation that I really like. The movie stars Chloe Grace Moretz. Honestly, I like a lot of movies that she’s in. Another book to movie adaptation I really liked is The Maze Runner. A few of the monsters are hard for me to imagine so I’m glad I’m able to see what they look like on the big screen. Those are the few that I can think of. The only reason I usually don’t like book to movie adaptations is because things aren’t how I imagined them. Not only that, I feel like really important things get left out of the adaptation.

Eline - LovelyAudiobooks.info

I’m very curious about trying Passionflix. They turn bestselling (indie) Romance novels into movies. They haven’t been around for all that long so there aren’t that many movies yet. But it seems like such a great project and I think after their next release, I’ll sign up.

Jo Linsdell www.JoLinsdell.com

I’m going with Chocolat by Joanne Harris for this one. I’ve had a copy of this book my bookshelf for years and recently it keeps catching my eye. It was made into a film in 2001 starring Juliette Binoche, and Johnny Depp. I’ve also yet to watch the film version. I’m moving it up on my list though, and honestly can’t believe I’m benched it for so long.

In tiny Lansquenet, where nothing much has changed in a hundred years, beautiful newcomer Vianne Rocher and her exquisite chocolate shop arrive and instantly begin to play havoc with Lenten vows. Each box of luscious bonbons comes with a free gift: Vianne's uncanny perception of its buyer's private discontents and a clever, caring cure for them. Is she a witch? Soon the parish no longer cares, as it abandons itself to temptation, happiness, and a dramatic face-off between Easter solemnity and the pagan gaiety of a chocolate festival. Chocolat's every page offers a description of chocolate to melt in the mouths of chocoholics, francophiles, armchair gourmets, cookbook readers, and lovers of passion everywhere. It's a must for anyone who craves an escapist read, and is a bewitching gift for any holiday.

Becki - A Book Lover’s Adventures

I have several books that were made into movies that I really enjoy, but I’ll share my favorite two with you today.
The Harry Potter series by J. K. Rowling, both books and series, are extremely well done! These are still a family favorite. We watch the series whenever they come on TV, and we have all the DVDs, lol.
My other favorite is Sense and Sensibility by Jane Austen. I thought the movie with Emma Thompson and Hugh Grant was lovely and I enjoy splurging once a year or so and watching the movie!

Tania Richardson - www.thebookwormmummy.com

Anyone who knows me knows how much I love The Princess Bride by William Goldman, both the book and the film. So it’s no surprise it would be my pick for today! What's it about? Fencing. Fighting. True Love. Revenge. Giants. Pirates. Escapes and Captures. Death, Lies, Truth, and Miracles. The film is my automatic go-to whenever I’m feeling under the weather… And of course, it’s not my birthday without a cake filled viewing! In terms of film v book, The Princess Bride film adaptation may be one of the very few out there that just about beats the book, but that is just testament to the talents of William Goldman and Rob Reiner.

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How about you? What are some film adaptations you've seen, that you'd recommend? Comment below and join the discussion! Stay tuned--Tomorrow you can find out where to find our BOOK REVIEWS!

"The Sheriff's Showdown" Excerpt: Walking Into Town

In the list of everything I ever wanted to do in my life, even just the once, for the sake of "experiential writing research", walk through a desert in the blazing sun alone dressed in nothing but a synthetic jumpsuit did not even show up anywhere at all. And yet, thanks to a quirky typewriter, an impossible challenge, and goodness knows what other substance I may or may not have ingested to bring me here--this is exactly where I found myself in this moment.

The thing that irritated me most was the fact that there didn't seem to be any trees or means of actual shade under the clear blue sky and the blazing sun. My only relief came from the fact that the futuristic jumpsuit from the Phantessan space ship possessed some kind of super-wicking ability, evaporating any moisture on contact, so that even my sweat didn't cause any problems. Of course, I still lost those copious amounts of moisture, so I felt the dehydration settle over me at a much faster rate. The bright sunlight reflecting off the pale sand didn't help the dizzy factor, either. I kept my eyes down, watching my shadow as I shambled over the ground. Gradually, I came to more or less of a flat, packed surface, instead of loose gravel and soil, and the track seemed to follow more of a direction, like a road rather than just open scrubland.

[...]

A town spread before me, on the valley floor below. I could see the wooden buildings of many shapes and various heights, and if I squinted really hard I could even make out people and animals moving about between them. I almost laughed aloud with relief at the sight--except that I couldn't shake the feeling I was being watched somehow, among those craggy cliffs.

"Time to find out what this story will be like," I murmured, taking long strides down the hill toward the town.

[...]

I wasn't exactly watching where I was going, and I nearly spooked someone's horse as they trotted down the road in the opposite direction.

"Watch where you're going!" snapped the rider.

A piercing wolf whistle cut through the air. A couple of drunks eyed me up and down. Lucky for me they were too hosed to stand up straight, but that didn't prevent them from hollering at me.

"Eyyy, pre'ygirl!" slurred one.

"No, issa boy," objected his companion as they reeled and staggered right past me. "See'is trousers?"

"Nevva see'd trousers go up to 'is neck like that!"

"Hey you!" barked a gruff voice, and something hard glanced off my cheek and splatted in the mud at my feet. I looked down to see a couple coins I didn't recognize, one of them golden in color (but surely it was too big to be real gold!) and the other a pewter-ish silver. I regarded the man who had thrown them. He made a rude motion with his hands.

"Yeah you... long-johns! Go buy yourself some real clothes, loony!"

He meant it as a slight, I could tell that from the way the people around him burst into a fit of laughter at my expense--but on the other hand, it struck me as a good idea to at least clothe myself in a way to fit in better. I bent down to pick up the coins.

It was so noisy already, I hadn't noticed the extra level of frenzy, but as my fingers closed around the shiny metal discs, I felt a shadow fall over me, heard the words "Look out!" and I stood up just as the fence less than ten yards away from me shattered in front of a runaway wagon headed right for me!

I cringed and threw my arms over my head, crouching down and praying that the horses went around me--but instead of hooves, I felt two arms lift me straight up and sweep me off to the side, as the wagon went thundering out into the middle of the road as people and crates screamed at the narrow escape and dove out of its way. The wagon plowed straight out of town without stopping or overturning.

"Are you all right?" asked a voice just over my head. The arms pulled back and gentle, strong hands supported me as I looked into the honest face of the man who had saved my life.

I gasped, feeling a keen sense of deja vu as I could have been looking into the face of Commander Gerald of Phantessa!

"Y-yes," I stammered, my body quivering as the rush of adrenaline subsided. "I'm fine, thank you."

The man stepped back, pushing the brim of his Stetson back to mop the sweat from his forehead with a kerchief. "It's my pleasure--and, I guess you could say, my job to ensure the safety of any who enter this town." He dusted off the sleeve of his plaid shirt and pointed to the silver badge clipped to his pocket. "I'm the Sheriff, you see. The name's Jerry Coldwell. Who might you be, stranger?" His eyes wrinkled as he talked, but his face was not unkind.

I managed a smile. "My name is Laura," I said.

He nodded and shook my hand. "Pleasure to meet you, Laura. Now, if you don't mind my saying..." Sheriff Jerry gave me a casual once-over, "I get the feeling you're not exactly from around here. Care to tell me where that might be?"

Oh, blazes! I hadn't had nearly enough time to cook up a reasonable response--and I already knew from my experience with Commander Gerald that I was absolutely no good trying to bluff on the fly. My eyes began to wander, as I knew that I had probably hesitated far too long to avoid suspicion, even from one as open and honest as the good sheriff before me. I had to say something!

"I--"

"Sheriff! Sheriff Coldwell! Thank God I've found you!" shouted a man, running up to us.

His hair stood out wildly from his head, and his clothes were streaked with dirt, even a little bit of blood from a cut on his face and a split lip. The wiry man whose skin looked like a bad sunburn all over, waved his hands and grabbed wildly for the Sheriff.

"Did you see them? Did you see those miserable outlaws?"

"Hold up there, Ingalls," Sheriff Jerry responded with the utmost calm. "What outlaws? What are you talking about?"

"The thieves!" Ingalls shouted. "Those men driving the wagon that just about ran down half the town! Those men ride with Big Tom the Bandit, and they've made off with nearly half my merchandise!"

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Short Story Feature: "The Prince And The Rose" Part Final

"The Prince and The Rose": >>Part 1<< >>Part 2<< >>Part 3<< >>Part 4<< >>Part 5<<

Part Final

Charmaine wandered the grand, empty halls in an vacant melancholy. By the time she'd recovered from her outburst at Felice, her friend was long gone. Still, twice a day, the Beast left her meals in the Great hall, in front of the fire, with a fresh, warm blanket waiting for her. Twice a day, she sat down to eat and saw the same message, scrawled on torn pages.

Tu est belle. 

Tu est belle.

Tu est belle.

"He doesn't even know what he's talking about!" she told herself time and again, even going so far as to throw one of the notes into the fire, only to see a new one appear at the next meal. "I'm not beautiful--and neither is he!"

For three days, she moped around by herself, not even bothering to brush her hair most of the time, because what would be the point, if the only person she had to impress was the Beast--and she couldn't care less what he thought!

As the third day faded into evening, Charmaine aroused from her heavy, defeated state enough to realize that, come morning, it would be the end of her second week in the Beast's castle--and she was no closer to freedom than the day her father broke the news to her.

"I'll never escape!" she mourned. "I'm doomed to walk around this big empty castle, avoiding that hideous monster, eating my two solitary meals, until one of us is dead!"

The moment the words left her mouth, she heard a low grunt behind her. In the time it took to turn and look toward the door, Charmaine saw the sloping, ridged back of the Beast, just in the act of walking by the room. A frantic fear beset her--what if he'd caught her outburst? She waited, statuesque, not daring to so much as blink or breathe until the sounds of his claws clacking against the marble faded from her hearing.

She released her breath with a sigh. "If this is going to be my new life," she muttered to herself, "I suppose now is as good a time as any to make the best of it!"

She emerged from her room, checked carefully for any sign of the Beast, and upon finding none, she made her way to the stairs. This time, instead of going to the Great Room and waiting for her supper, as she had done for the past couple days, instead Charmaine decided to change things up. She took a sharp right turn and headed down the hallway that led to the courtyard at the back of the house.

Everything was the same slate-grey stone, from the flagstones to the archways and columns giving a closed-off atmosphere to everything. Charmaine felt her lip instinctively curl at the many large stone vases of dead limbs--or just bare dirt. She noticed as she wandered among the scattered columns that there were certain places that seemed to absorb all sounds. One could very much indulge in a profound sense of loneliness here. Charmaine settled in the depths of a recessed alcove between two small columns. She could feel the tears itching at the back of her eyes already, as words to suit her mood came to mind. Dead... Alone... Abandoned... Unloved...

A soul-rending roar reached her, even in the depths of her despair. Charmaine abruptly sat up and leaned forward, listening to the wailing, bone-shaking sound. Was it the Beast? What was happening to him? Had a handsome monster-hunter come to kill him in an attempt to free her?

She glanced up to the vaulted windows, shattered as they were. Somewhere inside there, the Beast howled at the top of his lungs. Had he seen her? Was he angry with her?

"I probably trespassed in that courtyard or something," she concluded as she bounded the steps two at a time.

She reached the door into the Beast's upstairs parlor, and the memories of what happened last time she ventured this way crashed over her. She stopped short, her fingertips just inches away from the door. She clenched her fist and drew her hand back.

"I shouldn't..." she whispered to herself--but at the same time, she couldn't move away from that spot. The sound of his roar haunted her. Was it pain? Anger? Sadness?

Charmaine stood rooted to the floor until her curiosity overwhelmed the sense of foreboding. She placed her hand against the rough surface of the door, braced herself, and pushed.

The moving door stirred up a cloud of dust from the floor--but beyond that, the only thing that moved was the wind.

"Beast?" Charmaine called in a tiny voice. Her straining ears didn't catch so much as an echo from that space. She dared to cross the threshold into the room. "Raul?"

Now she stood inside the space. It was much more disheveled than the last time she'd been in there--but other than that, not much had changed. There were the tattered curtains and the cobwebs and the inch-thick layer of dust over everywhere except where the Beast walked most frequently. There was the strange flower under its jar on the table--

Charmaine gasped and clapped her hands over her mouth as she laid eyes on what remained of the ethereal rose. It could hardly be called a flower any more; barely a handful of petals clung pathetically to a bowed stem, upon which the thorns outnumbered the petals. A familiar sight caught her eye, so familiar she almost missed it: a page torn out of a book, with writing upon it. Charmaine stared at it curiously as she moved forward. Had he left a note, expecting her to come in here after him? She read the inscription. Her hand trembled so badly she almost dropped the paper. She felt faint. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears in a triple cadence.

J'ai fini. "I am finished," it declared.

Charmaine woke from her mortified stupor at the sound of a sharp crack. She blinked and watched as yet another petal broke away from the top of the rose stem and wafted to the table's surface. When the last petal falls... her thoughts followed that logic to it's likeliest conclusion, even though up to this point there had been no sure way of confirming it.

"Come on, Charmaine!" The young lady groaned at herself. "Of course you know his fate--the only question is, what are you going to do about it?"

She stood there long enough for yet another petal to fall, and then Charmaine did the very last thing she ever anticipated doing: she went after the Beast.

She couldn't be absolutely certain where he went, but the moment she entered the sunroom, with its massive bay of windows offering a three-sided view, she saw a flickering light glinting in the garden. Of course! The last time anyone had seen Raul as a human had been in the garden. Charmaine hurried for the nearest door and dashed down the long path to the overgrown yard.

She could hear the commanding voice before she saw them.

"Of course you tried. But all of your best efforts just weren't enough."

Charmaine saw them, the Beast and the Fairy--she was so pure and so fair, her skin fairly glowed, and her clothing enrobed her with a richness that surpassed even the clearest diamonds. Beneath her, the cowering, groveling, slovenly Beast barely looked like more than a heap of garbage. He let out an unearthly moan.

"I would that it were not so," said the Fairy, lifting her hand. "But I made you a promise, and I cannot rescind my word--"

"WAIT!"

Charmaine hardly had a moment to contemplate the best course of action before she suddenly screamed out and flung herself between the two entities. She found herself actually deigning to lay hands upon the magnificent Fairy, her own skin dark and ugly against the clear whiteness of the hand she held.

The multicolored eyes fixed on her.

"You are the damsel sent to lift the curse?" she asked.

Charmaine felt a massive weight settle around her shoulders, causing her to stoop and dragging the words back into her mouth as she tried to say them. "I--I am... I was sent to live with him."

The Fairy lifted her gaze, looking toward the place Charmaine knew was the window to Raul's chambers, where the flower stood. She blinked, and the Fairy held the flower in her hand. She peered at it closely. "But three petals remain." Her gaze shifted back to Charmaine. "You did not love him."

"So?" Charmaine retorted, standing up straight and setting her chin. "I don't see how that matters. I'm asking you--begging you--now to let him go."

The Fairy's face did not change. "Why do you beg now on his behalf if you did not care enough to break the spell sooner?"

The words struck into Charmaine's psyche. She fought to keep her voice calm and steady as she replied, "I'm begging now because I realize it's not about me and whether I harbor feelings for the Prince or not. It's about him--he's the one you're punishing, but he's not the same sort of person he once was!"

The Fairy lowered her hand, and folded her arms. "Speak on," she said. "The reason for this curse was because he took that which was not rightfully his, claimed a right to behave however he wished, and did not bother to acknowledge others more powerful than himself. Yet you say he has changed?"

Charmaine nodded, feeling the rush of emotion rising up to choke her. "Oh indeed! Since I first arrived, he has done nothing but care for me, preparing food, allowing me to roam where I wished, providing what he could for my comfort," the words caught in her throat and the tears itched at the back of her eyes as she recounted her experiences. "When I responded in fear and anger, he withdrew and heeded my demands. When I expressed more affection for the idea of receiving a visit from a friend in the city, he risked his life by going down to the village and retrieving her--something he'd never done for himself, but he did it for me." The conversation with Felice leaped into her mind, and Charmaine hung her head. "He--he paid me compliments, he's only ever been gentle--and in return, I've screamed at him, called him names, and blamed him for every little thing that happened to me." She lifted her tearful eyes and looked the Fairy right in the face. "If anyone deserves the punishment of becoming a monster and the curse of eternal isolation, it's me! I'm the monster! Prince Raul has seen the error of his ways and mended his choices, but I have continuously made things so much worse by what I've done!"

Her knees buckled, and Charmaine fell into a crouch next to the weary and slumping Beast. She lifted his head to see his eyes.

"Your highness," she murmured, "I am so sorry for the way I've treated you! All the things I said about you, the way I reacted to your kindness with only spite and anger and bitterness--the fault wasn't yours! It was all mine!" Her chin trembled, but she gently supported him as he shifted to a sitting position. Holding his terrible claws in her hands, she looked into that awful face and pronounced the words, "Tu es digne." You are worthy.

The Beast groaned and turned away, but Charmaine persisted. "No, listen to me! Tu es digne--I don't know how much longer I can say it to you, but you deserve to hear it at least as many times as you called me beautiful. You are worthy, Prince Raul! You are worthy!" Her eye fell on the rose in the Fairy's hand, and she sniffed. "I'm like that stem--you bore the sting of each of my thorns because you believed there was a rose among them..." She was crying in earnest now. "But I only showed you more thorns for your efforts. I'm nothing but a wilted, empty stem! You are worthy of someone who can reward you with a better love than you've gotten from me! You are worthy of true love, Prince!"

"Enough!" declared the Fairy, and she clapped her hands together.

A bright flash of light sent Charmaine reeling backward, her hands over her face. She cowered on the ground, expecting at any moment to feel her skin warp and change into a beast-like form--but none came. Instead, she felt a pair of warm, strong hands grasp her by the arms and lift her up.

"Charmaine?" asked an unfamiliar voice, low and warm.

Charmaine lowered her hands, leaning against the other person. The Fairy had vanished, and there was no sign of the Beast anywhere, either. Instead, Charmaine found herself standing beside a rather unkempt young man, with a thick beard and shaggy hair--but when he smiled, she took one look in his eyes and knew.

"Prince Raul?" she gasped. "But I thought--"

He chuckled, scratching at the side of his face. "I suppose your words must have swayed her somehow. You managed to break the curse, after all!"

Charmaine still struggled to understand this turn of events. "But then, if I broke the curse--" She lifted her hands up to her face. Her fingertips connected with a series of ropy scars. "I'm still..."

Raul grabbed her hands and caressed them. "Still what?" He challenged. "You still have the scars--but haven't you been listening, Charmaine? I've told you every day since that moment that you're beautiful--and for what its worth, I still mean it. You see only the thorns, but I've been looking at the rose this entire time." He dropped her hand and ran his fingers over her scars, himself.

Charmaine closed her eyes, relishing the feel of his skin against hers. The pair linked arms and turned back toward the castle. It was still every bit as ruined as it was before--but this time, there was no wall separating it from the rest of the kingdom. She leaned her head on his shoulder. "What is going to become of you--become of us--now?"

Raul sighed. "Well, since I was cursed by a Fairy to remain a hideous beast indefinitely, I am fairly certain my father already disinherited me, which means his crown will go to my cousin, and a new line of succession will begin." He escorted her to a low bench in the courtyard and sat next to her. "I'm afraid I'm no longer a Prince."

Charmaine considered this turn of events, searching for any hint of disappointment but her newfound feelings remained as strong as ever. "I don't care that neither of us can be royalty anymore," she declared. "I wouldn't even care if my own father wouldn't take us back, either. I trust you to take care of us, with or without riches and finery and status."

A sly smile inched across Raul's face. "My! Listen to the little mockingbird change her tune after being faced with an imminent curse!"

The words might have stung the Old Charmaine, but New Charmaine just laughed.

"As far as whether or not your father will accept you back," mused the former prince, "I can reassure you that a little bit of humility can tame the most ferocious beast." As he spoke, he tapped her on the shoulder.

Charmaine blushed as she recalled Raul's own display of humility in the face of her beastly behavior.

"Whatever happens," Raul sighed as they re-entered the castle, "I promise, Charmaine, that I will be there for you, I will be with you wherever life takes us." He stopped in the doorway, taking her hands and staring right into her eyes. "Dearest Charmaine, in return for breaking my curse, I give you everything I have--which is to say, merely myself, if you'll have me."

Looking into that clear, wholesome face, Char felt a sense of optimism and confidence such as she'd not experienced a long time, if ever at all in her life. "Dearest Raul," she replied, "I accept you for who you are, nothing more, nothing less."

The couple shared a tender kiss, and the Prince and his Rose lived in joy for the rest of their days.

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~THE END~