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On the first day of Windy Season, Mina woke at dawn. The house was already filled with life. Her mother boiled water in the kitchen, the hiss of steam matching the clattering of the wind against her window pane. Her brothers whispered in the room beside hers, the walls thin as the skin over their bones. "When the North Wind wakes, He carries a large sword," Vincent said, reciting the chant her family had spoken for years. "He cuts down the trees so the seeds will spread and circle the globe, making new life and forms." "Then the West Wind carries a large spoon to stir the waves," Samuel added, his voice reedy like the wind through the chimney. "He scoops up the pearls, the fish, the whales, and sweeps what we need onto the shore, to eat and rejoice." "Then the South Wind swallows the land whole. He kicks up dust and makes a fuss so we can see our better selves." "While the East Wind listens close for the ghosts of last year's sadness, and He gives them back to the land. So it can start again." "So it can start again," Vincent echoed. Mina repeated the final line for herself, "So it can start again." Then she let out a long breath, like she knew each of her brothers was doing, pretending to be the wind. Mina listened as her brothers scrambled into the kitchen, greeted their mother, and began breakfast. Though Windy Season would last another three months, allowing the dirt, crops, and landscape to change all around them, the first day was special. And while Mina had longed for this moment, she was also afraid. After breakfast and a reading from their grimoire, the family would gather the ashes of the dead. Last year, it was their dog, Sanders. The year before that, there had been no dead, only dried flower petals used as a substitute in order to say Thank You to the spirits for keeping them hale and fit. A different year, there was another dog, Mackenzie. Before that, a stray cat, a calf, and a fox that her father had accidentally killed. Then Mina's memory became fuzzy, like sand grains or snow squalls against a window. This year it was her father in the clay vessel on their mantelpiece. It was he, Jordan Sullivan, who would be released into the wind the first day of Windy Season, so he could begin his long travel to the land of the dead with the help of the four cardinal directions. Like all the deceased in their village, man or animal alike, Jordan had been cremated shortly after death. That had been six months ago, when a flu gripped his chest and not let go. The death midwife, a woman named Bea, delivered the ashes to them and stayed for a celebratory dinner, where they spoke about Jordan Sullivan's life. Though long ago now, Mina was still sure she could smell the venison, cooked potatoes and other root vegetables, and the flowery scent of the death midwife in the air. Mina had been silent during that dinner, only speaking a handful of words about her father--good man, I loved him--and her mother had been saddened. "You are the oldest," she chastised once the death midwife was gone and the ashes of her father remained on the mantelpiece, waiting for Windy Season. "You need to set an example." Mina had taken her lashings and apologized. But she'd also remained quiet, aloof, in the background, a shadow for the following six months. No more. Now that Windy Season had truly begun, she believed she could sing her father into absolution, leading him to his first stop on the journey of the dead. "Well," her mother said, once Mina had joined them at the table. "Look who finally showed up." Mina ate in silence. Her brothers sang their song, and though it moved their mother to tears, she didn't ask them to stop. Once the dishes were cleaned, they gathered their Windy Season gear: goggles, bandanas, and long clothing though the heat of the day would grow. The wind whipped against the house, clattering the windows, and making the chimney scream out. Mina grabbed her father's ashes. When her mother challenged her, she simply said, "Please." "If you're sure, then." Her mother held the door open, her knuckles white against the fierce winds. "Hurry. We do not have much time." The four of them assembled on their front lawn. Trees bent in all directions; all grasses were flattened; and beyond their hands, nothing was visible. Mina licked a finger to check directions, but it was soon caked with dust. Her bandana stood up straight, as if attacked from all sides. She didn't know what direction her father was to begin. "Hurry!" her mother cried. "He cannot wait another year." Mina surveyed the vast horizon. There was no sense of direction, no opening her father could ride to his final resting place. Nothing to see or hold onto. Vincent began to sing. Samuel followed. Their voices warbled, but not with sadness. Their words were plucked by the wind, steering the directions according to the song. When her mother joined in, the directions grew stronger. Mina sang too, the wind following all their voices in tune. At the final verse, Mina opened her father's ashes. They exploded like sparks on a lit fuse, like fireworks from another time period, distant and foreign. The wind took the ashes and held a body in place. A man, a shadow. Perfect. Then he was gone. Her family cried, tears mixing with dirt and making mud on their cheeks. They sobbed for their lost father, their husband, a man named Jordan Sullivan, who was now part of the earth, ready to fly towards his rightful place in the land of the dead. "So it can start again," Mina said. "So it can start again," the wind echoed back. Eve Morton is a writer living in Ontario, Canada. She teaches university and college classes on media studies, academic writing, and genre literature, among other topics. Her poetry book, Karma Machine, was released in late 2020. Find more info on authormorton.wordpress.com. Illustration: Amanda Bergloff Twitter @AmandaBergloff Instagram: amandabergloff

Holding a deck of Enchant cards is like holding magic in the palm of your hand. Produced to accompany The Carterhaugh School of Folklore and the Fantastic’s class Enchant, a five-week course on fairy tales and folklore with a touch of science, the cards can be enjoyed by anyone with an interest in the enchantment of fairy tales. Dr. Sara Cleto and Dr. Brittany Warman, the founders and creators of The Carterhaugh School of Folklore and the Fantastic, have put together the perfect deck of fairy tale themed cards to guide their students through the highs and lows of everyday life. Enchant cards are beautifully crafted of smooth, silky card stock that slides across your fingers. Each card has a soft lilac hue and a shiny silver edge that immediately transport your mind to a sacred space of contemplation. When you pull a card from the deck and flip it over, you will see the name of a fairy tale character along with a short description of how the character functions in their tale, advice for emulating the character’s best qualities, and a question that helps you ponder how tale’s deepest meanings may resonate with your life. For example, the Cinderella card first explains how Cinderella has spent her life being good and sacrificing her own desires to fulfill the needs of others before asking readers “What one wish can you give yourself today?” The descriptions found on each card will inspire you to rethink fairy tale narratives and discover everyday magic in the world around you. The deck of Enchant cards features characters from many well-known fairy tales like “Little Red Riding Hood,” “Rapunzel,” and “Beauty and the Beast,” but you will also find characters from more obscure tales like “Tatterhood,” “The Crane Wife,” and “Fitcher’s Bird.” The cards also feature characters easily forgotten like the 13th fairy from “Sleeping Beauty,” and antagonists like Baba Yaga and Mother Gothel. The deck will help you ponder old tales through new lenses, discover new stories, and understand the depth of characters who have often been painted as simple villains. Those familiar with Tarot may shuffle the cards and pull one to guide them through the joys and challenges of the day, while others may simply allow the cards to stimulate deep thought about the folklore that shapes and reflects their lives. Writers and visual artists can use the cards as inspiration for formal projects or informal drafting, and creative souls can pair the cards with the Enchant: Journal, a workbook designed to help readers come up with “marvelous, strange, and wonderful ideas.” I love sifting through my deck of Enchant cards as I think about my favorite fairy tales. I plan to use the cards to help me to teach my fairy tales classes and inspire me to write new fairy tales of my own. A deck of Enchant cards holds endless possibilities, and they are a must for everyone looking to enchant their everyday lives with fairy tale magic. You can find the Enchant: Journal here. You can learn more about The Carterhaugh School of Folklore and the Fantastic by joining their FREE Everyday Magic Challenge here. And, you can sign up for The Carterhaugh School of Folklore and the Fantastic's Enchant 2024 class here. Thank you to my Fairy Godmother, Kate Wolford, for gifting me a deck of Enchant cards! Kelly Jarvis works as the Assistant Editor for The Fairy Tale Magazine. Her poetry has been featured or is forthcoming in Blue Heron Review, Mermaids Monthly, Eternal Haunted Summer, Forget Me Not Press, A Moon of One’s Own, The Magic of Us, and Corvid Queen. Her short fiction has appeared in The Chamber Magazine and the World Weaver Press Anthology Mothers of Enchantment: New Tales of Fairy Godmothers. She can be found at https://kellyjarviswriter.com/

Hello Enchanted Friends: Today I’m preempting Cinderella’s Hearth to tell you about the special page we now have for Glass and Feathers. The book is by Lissa Sloan, and, as it happens, she did the page here on the site. You see, I used to be good at dealing with blogging platforms, but the jokes about older people not understanding the internet are real. The older I get, the more the internet vexes me. Thankfully, Lissa and her daughter Molly rode to my rescue and made a lovely page. It has all of the current information on the book, and as we get closer to its publication date, March 26, new information will be added. The image below tells you what the book is about. Check it out! Glass and Feathers is a coming of age fantasy romance that we know you’ll love. The Enchanted Press is delighted to be publishing it. We hope all of you will buy a copy. And, if you are one of the lucky people who received the book in serial form last year, please leave a review at Goodreads! It’s one of the most important things you can do to support the book and to support FTM. Stay Enchanted, Kate

Editor’s note: This unusual and thought-provoking take on “Little Red Riding Hood” proves that even commonly retold fairy tales can surprise you. It’s by Alethea Kontis, who is both very successful and talented. I’m proud of the level of talent this zine continues to attract, all of these years later. This was originally published in 2011. (KW) To: Mister Jack Woodcutter From: Miss Sonya Vasili Dear Mister Woodcutter, My grandmother bade me pen this letter. She says that when someone saves your life, especially a legend such as yourself, the least you can do is write them a proper thank you note. We also mention you in our prayers to the gods every night. Sorry if that sounds a little creepy, but if it weren't for you, Baba Vasili and I wouldn't have any more prayers--or any more nights, for that matter. "Thank You" doesn't seem a big enough phrase to fit all the meaning I need it to, but as I haven't been able to think of another, more appropriate gesture in the last few weeks, Baba Vasili handed me the quill and parchment, and here I am. Please forgive as well my utter lack of eloquence, as this is a tradition to which I am not yet accustomed. And lest this silly little note (if it even finds you on your Grand Wanderings) finish without saying: THANK YOU. Thank you, Mister Jack Woodcutter, again and again. Thank you for my life. All the best, Sonya "Red" Vasili *** To: Jack Woodcutter From: S. Vasili Jack, I hope this letter finds you as successfully as my previous pitiful note, but even if it doesn't, that's all right. The writing of it alone is enough. I can close my eyes and imagine you're right there in the settee listening to me, the only person in the world who believes me. Yes, Baba Vasili was there, but she is tired of listening. She doesn't want to hear about the nightmares (I see the wolf's teeth, I feel the brush of his fur, I smell his breath, and I scream for you). She is tired of me jumping at shadows in the forest. The other girls at school have started calling me "Little Red," as if I am just another silly baby telling tales. Baba Vasili will not tell the tale because she does not believe in spreading evil out into the universe, so no one believes me. No one will listen. No one will stand beside me. I am alone. I have no one. No one but you. And I don't even have you, as you gallivant off on your adventures. But I will write to you often and share my pain. I know you won't mind. It eases my heart a little. I wonder if you dream of the wolf, if he haunts your head with his darkness as he haunts mine. I wonder if you dream of me. Sonya (Red) *** Jack-- I miss you. Does that sound stupid? We met during one of the worst moments of my entire life, but I miss you. You shone like the sun, did you know that? Such a bright light against the darkness of the wolf. Against my darkness. But of course you know. Everyone knows of your beauty, your confidence, your ability to bear impossible burdens, perform impossible tasks, and beat unbeatable foes. The bards sing your praises from mountain to ocean side. I'm sure you never sleep in a cold bed. You must think of me sometimes, the in-between moments before sleeping and waking. Do you see me, my wide eyes, my long auburn hair, my pale arms desperately reaching for you as I did in that moment? So very innocent and frightened and powerless in your strong embrace. Most days, I sit on this hillside and pluck the petals of daisy after daisy. (You love me every time.) I see your eyes in the cloudless sky and your hair in the sunshine. Your chest is the tree trunk supporting me as I lean back against it. I inhale and the breeze is your breath, and in those moments we are together and I know--I know, with all my heart and mind and soul--that you can feel me too. I miss you, Jack. I miss you. And I love you. --Red *** My Dearest Jack, A troubadour came through town last night, singing for his supper. Once his belly was full of Baba Vasili's rabbit stew, he indulged me with hours upon hours of The Adventures o the Illustrious Jack Woodcutter. I never tire of hearing the trials and triumphs of my one true love, however great or small, for I know that one day those songs will hearken your return to my pale young arms and pining heart. But as the evening drew to a close (and the singer was so far into his cups that I was forced to tie him to the chair), he related to me a silly, bawdy shanty about The Great and Powerful Jack running afoul of a basket of poisoned pastries. I cannot apologize enough, for I know those pastries could only have been mine. (Did you recognize the basket from that fateful night so long ago? I shed blood, sweat and tears over that basket then; I thought it only fitting to do so again, for you.) I can only think that the messenger crossed paths with a vengeful fairy, or that some of the ingredients spoiled in this unnatural autumn heat we've been having. You know that I certainly never meant to harm you in any way! However, in the event that you had taken a turn for the worse, I would have sensed it immediately and been fast by your side to nurse you back to health. You never need call, my Jack, for my heart knows you. I believe in your absence that I am developing the ability to sense when you are in real danger. (Obviously, had the pastries been a real threat, I would have known about them long before that soused balladeer.) The gods brought us together, Jack. We are a matched set, cut from the same cloth. Who am I to deny the gods? I only hope they see you safely home soon, my dearest. I will be waiting. As always. Ever Your Girl, ~Red *** Beloved, This will be my last missive to you. The pain cuts me deeply, and soon I will return to the nightmare mouth of the wolf, where I was always meant to be. There is no world without you. There is no me without you. And soon, there will be no world at all. Forgive the stains on the page, red as my hair, but the quill grows heavy in my hand, heavy as my stone heart. The beats are slower now, and the breaths are faint. My soul is crying out to yours, growing ever blacker with the night. You will hear it and come to me soon, my love. Look to the stars--they will guide you to me. Perhaps you are already here, with your ax at the door. I only hope it is not too late. ----R---- *** To: Mister Jack Woodcutter From: Anastazia Yaga Vasili My dear Mister Woodcutter, Sir, it pains me to bring such news to you, after the incredible good deed you did my granddaughter and me so long ago, but in the event that any--or all--of Sonya's letters have found you on your travels, I thought you would want to know. Red is safe. It was I who dragged her back from the jaws of death this time, but the eyes and ears and hands of the enemy were her own. Its teeth were the penknife I keep in the writing desk. It was I who encouraged my granddaughter's correspondence to you, so it is only fitting that I must bear the burden of its outcome. You and I only saved Sonya's body from the wolf that night--the part we could see and touch and feel. Her mind, I fear, never recovered from that darkness, and I did not recognize the signs until it was almost too late. Our little Red is recovering in the care of my spinster sister, high in the remote reaches of the white mountains. Perhaps you might have heard of it in your wanderings. Cinderella's blind and mutilated stepsisters convalesce there. So, too, do the young girl with the donkey's tail on her forehead, and the one who spits snakes and toads when she speaks. I believe Red is in the best hands possible. If my sister cannot save her from the wolf, no one can. As much as I hate to burden you with this information, I thought it best that you should know. You are a great man, sir, and you once did my family a kindness that will never be forgotten. May your road be straight and your skies be blue. May the gods lift you to their breasts and find you worthy enough to be rid of your burdens. Many blessings to you. Your servant, Baba Vasili *** To: Miss Sonya Vasili, c/o Baba Yaga's Traveling Home for Unfortunate Young Women with Magical Maladies Dear Red, Get well soon. ~Jack *** Bio, from 2011: Alethea Kontis is the New York Times bestselling co-author of Sherrilyn Kenyon's Dark-Hunter Companion, as well as the AlphaOops series of picture books. Her debut YA fairy tale novel Enchanted, was released from Harcourt Books in 2012. Update: In 2024, Alethea continues to be a successful, award-winning, and well regarded writer. Learn more about her work here. *** Image by Jean Jacques Henner.

Wendy Darling clung to Neverland through it all. Her memories were the only things that allowed her to cope with her brothers forgetting, their parents not believing her, even the years in Saint Bernadette’s asylum, where Michael and John sent her when she refused to deny what happened. When she finally learned to hide the truth, Wendy kept her secret close. She didn’t confide in her husband. She didn’t warn her daughter about boys like Peter. She didn’t protect her. Unlike her mother, Jane does not choose to follow the boy who flies in her window. Instead, she is taken without her consent, flown to Neverland, and kept compliant with a drink that makes her forget who she is, her parents, even her name. But Wendy’s logical, curious daughter resists coercion and confusion, knowing that if there was a way in to this alien place, there must be a way out. Back in London, Wendy steps out her open window, heading for the second star to the right. For seeing her own daughter in her place, she must admit that in all the years of clinging to her memories, there was something she had forgotten. Neverland had a horrible truth she had denied. And now, to save her daughter, Wendy must face it at last. Wendy, Darling is author A.C. Wise’s dark continuation of J.M. Barrie’s Peter Pan. Through the eyes of its girls and women, Neverland is a very different place, one of shadowy secrets and threats too harmful to remember. Wendy is a complex character, struggling to understand her experience and the damage she’s caused by denying the pain of knowing what she knew. But she is determined to make amends and expose the whole truth, no matter the cost. In devastating, intensely personal prose, Wise stitches an accurate portrayal of trauma and its aftermath into a story of healing and found family. Tender, visceral, and fierce, Wendy, Darling is breathtaking. You can find it here. *Lissa loved Wendy, Darling so much she is giving away a FREE copy! Just join her mailing list at lissasloan.com to enter! Lissa Sloan is the author of Glass and Feathers, a dark continuation of the traditional Cinderella tale. Her fairy tale poems and short stories appear in The Fairy Tale Magazine, Niteblade Magazine, Corvid Queen, and anthologies from World Weaver Press. Glass and Feathers appeared as a serial in The Fairy Tale Magazine last spring. Print and ebook release from The Enchanted Press will be March 26, 2024. Visit Lissa online at lissasloan.com, or connect on Facebook, Instagram, @lissa_sloan, or Twitter, @LissaSloan.

I love homegrown food. And I really love being the one doing the growing. Or the idea of it anyway. If you ask me which TV show I’d like to model my life after, I would tell you about a charming 70s sitcom from the UK. In Good Neighbors, or The Good Life, as it’s called in the UK, Tom and Barbara Good (played by Richard Briers and Felicity Kendal) have had it with the rat race of modern life, but love their suburban house and neighbors. So they go all in for self sufficiency. They grow their own food, keep a goat, pigs, and chickens, and ingeniously use methane to power their home. Tom and Barbara may have green thumbs, but their tiny farm runs on good humor and sheer determination. In my Cinderella continuation novel, however, I gave my girl in the glass slippers a unique gift. The narrator of Glass and Feathers works magic with her hands in the earth, bringing plants to life with her touch. And though her stepmother forbids her to use her gift, she takes a savage pride in doing it anyway. I would like to say I am magically powerful like my narrator, or hard-working like the Goods, but sadly, I am neither. I love to plan my garden, and even plant it. But it’s all about the weather, really. I’ll even weed when it’s cool. Unfortunately, though, I struggle to get outside when it’s the littlest bit hot. I like going to farmer’s markets, too, but these days I’m even more of a homebody than I used to be. So now local farmer’s markets come to me. Market Wagon is an online farmer’s market bringing local providers together and delivering to customers. Every week I check the website to see what’s available from the farms in my area. I usually buy produce and sometimes dairy products, but there is also meat, prepared food, spices, tea, even candles and soap. I make my order by the end of the day on Tuesday and set out the reusable tote from the week before on Wednesday night. On Thursday, the delivery driver exchanges my empty tote for a full one containing my order. I can subscribe to items I want every week, like my favorite spinach or apples, but there’s no obligation to order every week. This time of year, there’s less in the way of produce, but there are always lots of things to choose from. So have a look and see if Market Wagon operates in your area. If you can’t be delivered to the ball in a pumpkin carriage, maybe the pumpkin can at least be delivered to you! Lissa Sloan is the author of Glass and Feathers, a Cinderella continuation novel that is already getting praise on Goodreads! Check it out.

Geek Witch and the Treacherous Tome of Deadly Danger by Rebecca Buchanan is a delightful new urban fantasy novelette. The story’s narrator, Ermentrude Wainwright, is the middle-aged proprietor of a games, comics, and sundry adventures shop, and the action opens in the middle of one of her role-play campaigns. As the players roll a twenty-sided opal die that will determine their in-game fate, readers begin to realize that the urban landscape the characters occupy is every bit as magical as the games they play. Outside of the games, Ermentrude lives in a world that has witnessed the destruction of cities by occult magic. She uses sigils and potions to ward her store and home from dangers, but when she is accused of practicing malefic magic (a type of occult magic that carries a negative intent) she finds herself in trouble. Ermentrude falls under suspicion because she is in possession of a rare Change Your Destiny book that contains dangerous spells once used to destroy Chicago. When intruders break into her home to steal the book, she must navigate a complicated world filled with secrets to keep the book out of the wrong hands. Geek Witch and the Treacherous Tome of Deadly Danger has a splendid cast of characters, but none is more inspirational than Ermentrude. It is not often that magical quests are completed by single, overweight, middle-aged protagonists, and Buchanan’s creation makes a wonderful addition to the fantasy genre! Although an endearing group of misfits helps out along the way, it is the narrator herself who manages to save the day, telling herself ”Okay, Ermentrude. Time to be the hero of the story.” I loved every word of this entertaining novelette! The plot offers the perfect blend of adventure and humor, and the twists and turns kept me smiling. I devoured the story in one sitting, but lingered over the insightful descriptions of what constitutes magic in both the fantasy and everyday worlds. If you love stories with enchantment, dragons, quests, old bookshops, clock towers, and lovable characters, then Geek Witch and the Treacherous Tome of Deadly Danger is for you! Although the tale wraps up with a satisfying ending, I hope there will be more Ermentrude adventures to come! You can find the book here. Kelly Jarvis works as the Assistant Editor for The Fairy Tale Magazine. Her poetry has been featured or is forthcoming in Blue Heron Review, Mermaids Monthly, Eternal Haunted Summer, Forget Me Not Press, A Moon of One’s Own, The Magic of Us, and Corvid Queen. Her short fiction has appeared in The Chamber Magazine and the World Weaver Press Anthology Mothers of Enchantment: New Tales of Fairy Godmothers. She can be found at https://kellyjarviswriter.com/

Until recently, I’d never tried Rao’s pasta sauce, largely due to cost. But our daughter and family gave us a big variety basket of Rao’s pasta and sauces for Christmas, and we’re enjoying all of it. The vodka sauce, though—that was the winner. The marinara was lovely, but I wasn't sure I loved it enough to pay almost three times what I’d pay for Barilla. So we tried the Rao’s vodka sauce with penne pasta, and waited to see the results. The sauce is somehow spicier and creamier than the marinara. It has a more homemade taste, and it has bolder and subtler flavors that come through. There’s also a cheesiness to it that is delightful. Kudos also to the penne. Turns out Rao’s definitely makes good pasta, but since it’s nearly three times what I regularly pay, I’ll opt for the vodka sauce only. I’ve gotta save a buck somewhere. I think Rao’s vodka sauce would be delicious with meat sauce, but Todd and I eat meat only about once a month, so our pasta tends to be vegetarian. But it was fantastic with freshly grated Parmesan cheese. Costwise, the breakdown is that it cost about $4.50 per serving, as we didn’t use an entire bag of pasta for a bottle of vodka sauce—we like a very saucy pasta meal. That’s less than you’d pay in a restaurant, and honestly, Rao’s vodka sauce is better than a lot of what I’ve eaten in restaurants. So if you’re on the fence about trying Rao’s go for it! It makes a luxurious meal at home. Spoil yourself the next time you’re in the mood for pasta. If you’re looking for a great continuation of the “Cinderella” story, buy Lissa Sloan’s “Glass and Feathers,” which publishes on March 26. It’s a fantastic book, and preorder details are coming soon.

We are so proud to announce that Kim Malinowski's poem, "Robin Hood's Larder's Torn Roots" has been nominated for the Science Fiction and Fantasy Poetry Association’s Rhysling Award! It was originally published in FTM in March 2023. Kim, who is both our poetry editor and our tech coordinator, is a prodigiously talented poet and writer. The team counts itself lucky to have her and congratulates her on both the poem itself and the nomination. Congratulations, Kim! We are happy, but not surprised, that your work is being recognized. The poem is below. Robin Hood’s Larder’s Torn Roots I. 1961, mended Robyn of Loxeley, Robin Hood’s Larder bared secrets away. Hallow cavern sheltered legend, revealed blushed history only once in harsh storm. Edwinstowe holds fast Robyn’s love. Mayde Marian’s bower slumbers beneath sacred loam. Legend echoes story echoes legend. 1266 before 1510 before 1840. Love crooned centuries on tongue, carried on parchment and wind. II. Sly. He tucks pink rose behind ear. My eyes are his as he plucks petals dear to his forest. Repurposed magenta blossoms snow over me, find my collar, chest. Spill onto war torn rock, moss and lichen battling slate. My eyes mute his arrows. My winding hair combats Nottingham’s appeal. Robin Hood could plunder, could steal, could learn to love. Learn that he was magic now, lore more than man. He winks—tells me I’ve been deflowered with grin, boyish battle right. Words echoing against breast, belly, this is not who I am. He knows my mind. Whispers, “Marian, this is who you are to be.” Love me … love me not… sighs with each petal that falls. III. I lie beneath Craigleith sandstone, Maiden, not Maryin, love not loved. Still clover dances sunlight adventure. Yew in hand, evergreen wafts tickle nostrils. I could be shaft notched to bowstring, wet fingers fanning flax into fury, and my love is my love is my love if he would let me fly. IV. I pick Yew not too crooked or knobbed. Robin had done this. I can too. I am no outlaw. No outcast. Rub sinew on shaft, feathers to fletching, bind silver point. Right there, under that arch, Robin’s hand outstretched— ready to propel him to warm hand. We both fell laughing, muddied with branches and mirth. Forgetful moment of starving poor. Now muddied, I knew that there was life before this moment and life after this moment and in haze and muck, I found who was real, who was false. The Sherriff always foe. Now my King. Outlawed by love, I abandoned my station. But Robin helped me back onto bridge giggling ignoble, showing muscle and grace. I took oath. Double life. Fashioned arrows instead of embroidering handkerchiefs and wasting time. V. The Sheriff’s captive. Knowing my hands splintered, torn by love, not noble blood. Robin strode toward me fearing no danger— not the men that carried torches the armored ones with long swords the… Robin of Locklesey waltzed, stomped, veered into the direction of the Sheriff. The Sheriff leapt backwards to flee. Robin Hood was not here. No one would be giving to the poor. Lockesley was here for me. And I was here because of him. My arrows, my letters to the King, my wisdom not granted to me by Nottingham Palace. Love was the worst of all. One of Robin’s arrows had long ago pierced me. VI. The forest holds secrets. The silver arrow, disintegrated strings. Trees that watched men sing, dance, carry on freedom. The man that loved too much. The man that gave too much. The tree that gave away its secrets. The storm that carried away history, bound it to legend, whispered its sweet songs to me. *** Note: Crook, David. Robin Hood: Legend and Reality (p. 252). Boydell & Brewer Ltd. Kindle Edition. Robin_hoods_larder_1880.jpg (1113×739) (wikimedia.org) Edinburgh's Geological Sites - Edinburgh Geological Society (edinburghgeolsoc.org) *names change spelling as folktales are written down over the centuries. They purposely change here as time goes forward. The illustration is an advertisement for Douglas Fairbanks in Robin Hood, 1922.

Editor’s note: The idea that the saint in this poem is probably not that saintly intrigued me, as did the message that people want to believe that someone they revere is good, no matter the cost. It was and is a different kind of poem for FTM, and I think you’ll find it thought provoking. This originally ran in July 2021. (Kate) Patients thronged in long queues dreaming to defer their death one by one they took out their shoes and entered to buy some breath Some trepidation,some agitation, and the usual yells of pain and the wishes made in devotion maybe not to visit again “'Why do you need a doctor when prayers can heal every sore,” the saint would say like an actor, “I have with me every cure.” “Just close your eyes,” he'd tell, and splash some ash on the brow or ring his old rusted bell to draw milk from a cement cow He had some sleight of hand some tricks to gather belief to make an apple from sand or find a rose in a leaf That was enough for the crowd to travel miles and come to the saint and chant aloud his name like puppets dumb Even when a patient died it little affected their clan “Our saint had truly tried,” they said, “Twas God's plan.” *** Bio: Debasish Mishra has co-edited an international anthology of poetry entitled Timeless Love. His recent poems have been published in North Dakota Quarterly, Penumbra, Star*Line, and elsewhere. A former banker, as of July 2021, he was pursuing his PhD at NISER, India. Image by Ramez E. Nassif. ⭐️ Keep your reading calendar open for March 26, when Lissa Sloan's Glass and Feathers debuts on Amazon. The Enchanted Press is publishing it.⭐️

As a person who reads a truly ridiculous amount of books, it’s not often that I come across a book that really blows me away. And yet, out of the hundred and fifty books that I read in 2023, this was the best one, and I’m convinced that it would make a fantastic start to your 2024. Cackle by Rachel Harrison follows a young woman as she moves to a new town and learns to navigate her life with the help of her new friend Sophie whom the whole town seems to be afraid of. Strange things seem to always happen around Sophie, and her strange lonely lifestyle in her massive house makes Annie question who Sophie really is. Sophie is everything Annie has ever secretly dreamed of being, and Sophie is more than happy to show Annie how to live a different kind of life, one that is never caught up with what everyone else is thinking. This book is both heartbreaking and heartwarming and it speaks to every woman that's ever wondered whether she really needs to live within the bounds of the societal plan for her life. It invokes all of the heartbreak and utter joy that is womanhood itself, and I desperately wish I could read it again for the first time. Whether you’re looking for a wintry read, or something to remind you that spring is coming, this is the perfect book for you. You can find it here. Madeline Mertz is FTM's editorial intern and is a Truman State University student with literary journal experience.

Weekly Tips for an Enchanted Lifestyle! Editor's note: Lissa Sloan's post would be perfect for the holidays, but given the deep freeze many of us are experiencing in the US, it's a great post for right now! Also, the truth is, I also lost track of it over the holidays. 😔 (KW) Holiday meals in my house these days are a mix of tradition and experimentation. We often like to try new side or main dishes—last year we had vegetarian shepherd’s pie for Christmas, and the year before that we tried roasted sprouts with grapes. But some parts of the menu are a given, like the strawberry jello, cream cheese, pineapple, and pecan salad we call simply Pink Jello, and of course, hot spiced apple cider. I try to put it on early in the day, and before long, the whole house smells like the holidays, no matter what else is on the menu. It’s ridiculously easy, delicious, and adaptable. Alter the spices and orange juice amounts to suit your taste. ½ gallon apple cider 1 cup orange juice (You could vary this according to your taste, add lemon juice if you like your cider tart or pineapple if you’d like it sweeter.) 1 teaspoon whole cloves 1 teaspoon allspice berries 2 cinnamon sticks 1/8 teaspoon ground nutmeg Combine cider and juice in a medium-sized saucepan. Place cloves and allspice in a tea infuser and add to the pot along with the cinnamon and nutmeg. Simmer while you prepare your meal, or at least half an hour or so. Enjoy with dinner or dessert, or anytime, really! *** Lissa Sloan is the author of Glass and Feathers, a dark continuation of the traditional Cinderella tale. Her fairy tale poems and short stories appear in The Fairy Tale Magazine, Niteblade Magazine, Corvid Queen, and anthologies from World Weaver Press. Glass and Feathers appeared as a serial in The Fairy Tale Magazine last spring. The print and ebook release from The Enchanted Press will be on March 26. Visit Lissa online at lissasloan.com, or connect on Instagram, @lissa_sloan, or Twitter, @LissaSloan.