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The proof copies for Glass and Feathers have arrived and they are glorious! It's amazing how much better a book cover looks in real life. The pages are a rich cream, and we love the fonts we chose. (Ebook Launch did the cover and all of the formatting, for for those who'd like to know.) Naturally, the actual books for sale will not have the proof copy stripe across them, but proof copies are special in their own way. After all, only five of them exist. You still can't preorder the print editions of the book, but ebook lovers can preorder today. Please consider doing it, as every preorder elevates the listing on Amazon. Also, and this is very exciting, Lissa will be giving away a swag box filled with Glass and Feathers goodies at our Fairy Godparents meeting on March 18 at 7 PM, EST. Only people who are present can win. Membership opportunities close on March 17, so if you'd still like to join, send $20 through PayPal to katewolford1@gmail.com (that's our official email) and indicate that it's for the Fairy Godparents Club in the message. Then you'll be in for the whole year! The book officially publishes on March 26 and we can't wait!

What Monstrous Gods is a complex retelling of the Sleeping Beauty fairy tale set in a world of gods and magic. The protagonist and narrator, Lia Kurinava, is about to turn seventeen when the novel opens. She has been raised by the sisters of a convent dedicated to the goddess of spring, new life, and healing, and she is one of a handful of girls to be born with the power to enter the briars, kill the evil sorcerer Ruven, awaken the royal family from their 500 year long sleep, and restore peace and health to the kingdom. Lia succeeds in her task early on in the novel and is surprised when the newly awakened queen betroths her to Prince Arauun in recompense for her service to the kingdom. Lia has pledged herself to the convent that raised her, hoping to become a nun, but a little known rule that those born with magic power must marry into the royal family or die thwarts her life plan. Lia and Araunn are sent on a pilgrimage to awaken the shrines and bring back the saints, opening the space for a slow burn to their growing relationship. Lia is haunted by the ghost of Ruven and surprised by what she learns of gods, lending tension and suspense to the journey. Fans of Sleeping Beauty will enjoy Hodge’s loose take on the fairy tale. The story is rich in religious contemplation, and the book begins with a clear overview of the gods and their shrines to help the reader keep track as the characters’ journeys move forward. The book is full of theological musings, mysterious surprises, and atmospheric world building that will delight fans of fantasy and fairy tale. You can find it here. Thank you to NetGalley for a free copy of the book in exchange for a fair review. 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/

Needlework has long been associated with female storytelling, and Kay Williams, the embroidery artist behind Heart of Thistle and Clover, has created an online company “where embroidered wonders tell stories of resilience and delicate beauty.” A self-taught herbalist inspired by nature, folklore, and fairy tale, Kay creates and sells handmade pendants and mini-frames that express her sensitivity and help her connect with kindred spirits. Read on to learn more about Kay and her enchanted embroidery! Tell us a little bit about yourself, your background, and when you first began creating with embroidery and herbs. What drew you to this type of art? What is your artistic process when creating something new? My maternal grandmother was an exceptional quilter. My mother practiced sewing and quilting before she became a nurse. I am drawn to domestic, powerful, slow, and intentional avenues of self-expression that hold love, care, and magic. In a world full of fast capitalism and next day deliveries, I want to lean into projects that exude their own characteristics. I want to create pieces that fully convey the love and energy that it took to make them. Embroidery found its way into my life unexpectedly, starting with small tattoo-inspired details on vintage resells while working for friends. What began as simple designs on jeans evolved into intricate hearts stitched onto rich velvet that I created just for myself. Venturing into more delicate territory, I began crafting pendants and mini-frames with a shift towards a softer, heartfelt aesthetic. Life led me away from my embroidery for a while, but this past October, I used my creative roots to help me get back to myself after a period of feeling lost. The sacred heart imagery, a beacon through dark times, drew me back. Nurturing my sensitive heart, I channeled my experiences into art, little knowing how much my work would resonate with others. The inspiration for my art is simply anything I feel drawn to that has helped me embrace my sensitive soul. I am an avid reader of Dr. Clarissa Pinkola Estés. She writes about ancient female archetypes that have been forgotten, withheld, and even rewritten. These archetypes hold the secrets we need to navigate this life. Most of these secrets have been passed down in oral tradition via folklore and stories, and I often contemplate them as I walk my own creative path. Your website features both Embroidery Frames and Protection Pockets, embroidered pins designed to carry crystals, talismans, and notes of affirmation. What first inspired you to create these products? Overall, I wanted to make a physical representation of something that could literally cover my heart and help remind me to guard it. All through my life I have been told I am both too sensitive and too much; I cry too much and I feel too much. My artistic journey has taught me that my sensitivity isn’t a weakness. It is a strength that culture and society wants to suppress. I wanted to make something that helped others like me. I wanted to create something beautiful, not only through my art, but by building a community of heart-forward folks. Your newest Protection Pocket is a reproduction of Baba Yaga’s house, complete with chicken feet! What drew you to use Baba Yaga as an inspiration for your art? Why might Baba Yaga’s house act as a source of protection for those who wear your creations? I have been an admirer of Baba Yaga since I first read about her in Dr. Clarissa Pinkola Estés’ book, Women Who Run With The Wolves: Myths and Stories of the Wild Woman Archetype. I immediately loved that Baba Yaga came across as a villain, yet she actually was benevolent. Growing up in a society that wants women to be small, docile, young, beautiful, and compliant, Baba Yaga is an archetype that emboldens me to break those holds. She is the wise witch of the woods, powerful, feared, and respected because she demands it. She does what she wants and does not give passersby the answers they are seeking just because they ask. She is a grumpy mentor who challenges you to find answers within. This is the woman I aspire to be, and I hope to foster that through my work. I ask her to protect me through that trip to the underworld. I am inspired by the audience that resonates with Baba Yaga’s teachings and by those who see her house as a representation of her protection. Are you inspired by any other fairy tales or folklore? What is your favorite fairy tale narrative or fairy tale character and why? I am constantly inspired by folklore and immerse myself into finding stories of the old ways. Currently I am fascinated by Artemis and the plants associated with her like Mugwort (Artemisia vulgaris). Artemis is the goddess of the hunt, the moon, wilderness, wild animals and the care of children and mothers. It’s no surprise that I am drawn to her protective qualities. A more traditional fairytale that I love is “Rapunzel.” Some of the older variants begin with a woman who longs for a child and is overcome with the desire to eat lamb’s lettuce or rampion (another name for rapunzel). Rapunzel is then born, and, as payment for stealing from the sorceress’s garden, Rapunzel’s parents must turn their child over to a sorceress who locks her away from the world. The ending I most adore features a prince blindly wandering the woods for years before finally hearing his beloved’s voice. Rapunzel’s tears cure his blindness. There is something to be said about the trials and tribulations of “Rapunzel” and how if you follow your heart, it will never lead you away from your true desires, no matter how difficult the circumstances. Your company is “inspired by flora, fauna and matters of the heart”, and many of your designs feature hearts and flowers. How did you come up with the name of your company? Why do hearts and flowers recur as images in your work? How are flowers and herbs representative of and related to the human condition? A long time ago I was enamored by the song, “At Last” by Etta James and the line, “My heart was wrapped up in clover.” I felt such a kinship to that. Clover is tender, green, soft, and loving. It is a nourishing plant, but it is so common that one no one really pays attention to it. That felt and still often feels like my heart. I am quick to love and easily hurt. On the other side of that is my affinity to thistle. Celtic cultures believed the thistle to be protective, and yet, this thorny weed is exquisite when it flowers. Thistle is another common plant that teaches me to guard my tender heart so I can continue to stay open. And that is how the name of my shop, Heart of Thistle and Clover was born. I have been drawn to plants and have been creating a relationship with them since I was a child running and playing in the meadow and woods of our family farm. This world needs people who are still in awe of this earth and what nature can be for us. I hope that by crafting functional art that incorporates a vehicle for herbs and helps us learn about them, more folks will see that plants can be our greatest support and healers during difficult times. You can follow Kay on Instagram and TikTok to stay up to date on her latest projects and products. We know that you will love her enchanted embroidery and herbal magic as much as we do! 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 friends! "Cinderella’s Hearth" is taking a break this week because Kate and I have an exciting announcement: Preorders for the Glass and Feathers ebook are live on Amazon! For us at The Fairy Tale Magazine, this is another “This. Is. Happening!” moment. The Enchanted Press is a tiny indie press, and Glass and Feathers is our first publication. It’s also my debut novel. If you’ve been around FTM for a while, you’ve probably heard a wee bit about Glass and Feathers. And perhaps you’d read it when it came out as a serial last year. If you have, we’d be so grateful if you’d leave review on Goodreads or Amazon, or honestly, both if you’d be willing! Reviews make a huge difference in helping other readers choose their next read. If you’re new to FTM, Glass and Feathers is a continuation of the traditional "Cinderella" tale, in which the girl with the glass slippers, now married to her prince, finds she does not fit with the grand people of the palace. And even her famous shoes cannot help her—the glass slippers no longer fit. Here’s a taste: “Do you think princesses know how to bake?” He was silent, his brow furrowed. “I can churn butter too,” I continued, and the tightness began to ease. “And milk a cow and spin and knit.” I turned my face toward him a little more, looking down so as not to frighten him. “Do you see the freckles on my cheeks?” They had faded in those months at the palace, but they never completely disappeared. Jack nodded. “Princesses keep their skin pale by staying out of the sun.” I chanced a look at his face. “Who would want me as a princess?” “You are,” he insisted, his voice still soft. He put a hand to my cheek, wiping away a tear I didn’t even know was there. “Maybe you are a sparrow princess. The sparrows will come for you one day. You’ll see.” He warmed to his story. “They will give you a cloak all made of feathers, and a crown of berries.” “What will my gown be made of?” I asked. “Leaves,” he answered. “Green leaves.” If you’re an ebook fan, we hope you’ll check out the Amazon page to preorder. If you prefer print, Amazon preorders are coming very, very soon, BUT if you’re interested in a signed paperback that comes with some lovely book swag, you can sign up for my newsletter at lissasloan.com to find out how to buy it straight from me! Thank you for coming on this journey with us! Lissa Lissa Sloan is the author of Glass and Feathers, a dark continuation of the traditional "Cinderella" tale. Her fairy tale poems and short stories have appeared in The Fairy Tale Magazine, Niteblade Magazine, Corvid Queen, and anthologies from World Weaver Press. Visit Lissa online at lissasloan.com, or connect on Facebook, Instagram, @lissa_sloan, or Twitter, @LissaSloan.

Editor’s note: Just when I thought I’d seen everyone possible permutation on “Snow White,” Marsheila came along with this dark yet strangely lighthearted take on the old classic. I think you’ll see why I was delighted by this story back in 2021. Enjoy. (KW) The witch checked her basket one last time before approaching the cottage in the woods. The apple on top was plumper, redder, and shinier than all the others, making even her mouth water. She pulled the gingham back over the fruit as she reached the cottage door and knocked timidly, settling into her guise. A young girl soon opened the door. She had corpse-pale skin, moondark hair, and lips like clotted blood, features no mirror would ever call fair. “Yes?” “Hello, dearie! I am selling these lovely apples, the finest—” the witch began, her voice crackling with illusory age as she uncovered her wares. The girl’s eyes lit up with hunger. “I’ll take the whole basket!” the girl interrupted, disappearing back inside for a moment and returning with a small pouch. “This should be more than enough to cover it,” she said, flashing the neck open to show a sparkle of diamonds. “Why, yes, but—” the witch began again, flustered, but the girl snatched the basket away and shoved the pouch into her hands in its place. “No time, grandmother. Be careful in the woods. There are wolves about.” And with that, the girl slammed the cottage door and was gone. The witch stared at the closed door, flummoxed. This was not how she had envisioned her encounter with her runaway stepdaughter taking place. Still, if it got the job done…. She pressed her ear to the door to listen. There. The crunch of teeth biting into the flesh of an enchanted apple. Perfect. The witch turned and headed back into the woods, smiling as she tucked the pouch into her bodice. Soon she would be the ailing king’s only heir. And his darling daughter had just paid for—and hastened—what would be a very lavish funeral, indeed. *** The girl watched from behind a curtained window while her stepmother disappeared amongst the trees. Had the old bat really thought she wouldn’t be recognized, or that her peddler’s disguise would hide her true identity from one who knew her so well? One to whom she had taught the same tricks of illusion, once upon a time? She had tasted the flavor of the other woman’s magic immediately, and spit out the bite of fruit the moment the witch was out of earshot. This wasn’t the first time the witch had tried to kill her, and it wouldn’t be the last, and one of these days, the girl would fail to soften the huntsman’s heart or detect the hint of poison, and then what? She’d be dead, and all for a kingdom that hated her because she was not, and had no desire to be, her mother. The girl eyed the basket of apples on the low table, topped by the one she’d bitten into, its flesh already browning. It did seem a shame to let her all her stepmother’s effort go to waste…. *** That night, when the girl’s companions returned home from the mines, carrying bags of uncut gemstones and hunks of golden ore to add to the hoard already stored in their ever-expanding root cellar, she served them vegetable soup, acorn flour bread with goat butter, and mugs of that same goat’s milk. She watched them eat, longing as always for the taste of red meat, but the brothers were strict vegetarians. The one whose snoring kept her up most nights sloshed soup out of his bowl with every spoonful. The one who thought himself a jester regaled the stupid one with poorly-told jokes they all knew by heart, and acted offended when one or another of his brothers would blurt out the punchline prematurely. The sullen one glared at the one with social anxiety for some imagined slight, making the anxious one cry snotty tears into his mug. The one who was always sick coughed something wet and sticky onto the butter dish. While the girl hurried to clean it up, the one who fancied himself a healer prescribed a concoction of common herbs she knew would be fatal in that particular combination. She said nothing. When they were finished with their supper, the girl served them each a bowl of freshly made applesauce, still warm from her cauldron. She watched as they wolfed down the dessert, and obliged with a smile when they asked for more. A smile that only widened when the first one paled, the second one began to sweat, the third one clutched his stomach in pain, the fourth one began to foam at the mouth, the fifth one began to seize, the sixth one vomited into his bowl, and the seventh one, finally, began to scream. *** The witch returned to the cottage a few days later, expecting to find the girl’s companions mourning over her lifeless body. Instead, the cottage door stood open, the sickly-sweet smell of death reaching her from across the clearing. She approached cautiously, then stood at the threshold, peering inside the silent abode. As her eyes adjusted, she could see upended chairs, scattered bowls, and bodies. Seven corpses lay about the table, innards bared with whatever had been near to hand—pickaxes, butter knives, their own black-nailed fingers—to try and remove the poison burning through them. To no avail. The witch also noted the open cellar door and a trail of spilled gold and gems. It led toward a back door, and the horse and wagon she knew without looking would no longer be hitched there. She had wanted the girl gone, to eliminate any claim the child might have to the witch’s throne. And gone she was, fled with all the riches she would ever need, someplace where the witch would have no reason to follow. She smiled. It seemed the girl had been a better student than she let on and the crafty apple hadn’t fallen far from the cunning tree. Their rivalry hadn’t ended how she’d imagined, but the witch would take it. Whatever got the job done. Bio: Marsheila (Marcy) Rockwell is a Rhysling Award-nominated poet and the author of twelve books and dozens of poems and short stories. A disabled pediatric cancer and mental health awareness advocate and reconnecting Chippewa/Métis, she lives in the desert with her family, buried under books. Find out more here: www.marsheila rockwell.com. *** Image: “The Poisoned Apple,” by Wanda Gag, 1938.

In The Warm Hands of Ghosts, Katherine Arden has gifted readers a stunning story about life and love set against the backdrop of World War I. The narrative relays the daily struggles of Laura Iven, a field nurse who has returned home to Halifax, Canada after being wounded by shrapnel, and her little brother Freddie, a young man with an artistic temperament who is serving in the trenches. Although Laura receives word of her brother’s death in a battlefield explosion, she is also confronted with otherworldly messages that let her know he is still alive, and she crosses the Atlantic to find the answers she needs. The chapters alternate between Laura’s search and her brother’s experiences as he is trapped beneath a pillbox with an injured German soldier who becomes his only connection to the world of the living. Although set in a harsh, real-world environment, Arden’s text is rich with supernatural elements. The trenches and the forbidden zone between the warring armies is haunted by the ghosts of fallen soldiers, and rumors of bands of defectors who live among the rubble abound. Perhaps most interesting is the legend of a fiddler who hosts soldiers in his strange hotel, offering them wine which brings them the peace of oblivion in exchange for their stories. The Iven siblings must confront the costs of living in a world of death, destruction, and pain if they hope to escape from the fiddler with the memory of their own identities. In addition to being a haunting and beautifully written novel, The Warm Hands of Ghosts is a well-researched depiction of the horrors of World War I. In her author’s note, Arden says “World War I deserves our attention. The hectic, violent years from 1915-1918 set the stage for the rest of the tumultuous twentieth century and laid the groundwork for the modern world.” Arden skillfully captures the reality of trench warfare and its aftermath, likening it to the apocalyptic imagination of the Laura and Freddie’s parents who prepared their children for the end of days. The prose is peppered with poetry from Milton, Dante, and Tennyson, and the close juxtaposition of beauty and horror, death and life, will leave readers spellbound. Throughout it all is an enduring sense of hope and an appreciation for the love that makes human life worth living. I loved every word of this book and highly recommend it! You can find it here. Thank you to NetGalley for a free copy of the book in exchange for a fair review. 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/

"Cinderella’s Hearth” isn’t just about food and home keeping. It’s also about making life more enchanting and less humdrum. And I’ve got something absolutely lovely for your next birthday card purchase. It’s the “Book Birthday Cards” set from Bas Bleu, a delightful catalog of wonders squarely aimed at book lovers. My family and I have been buying things from there for years. My sister Amy hit the jackpot when she sent me the pink fairy tale card. (She did not, however, but the card set from Bas Bleu. She found it months ago at Whole Foods and saved it for my birthday. So perhaps you can still find it there.) It’s the most lovely rose pink and no picture can do justice to how pretty it is. The “bookness” of it really comes through. It actually looks like a real book cover. The images are crisp and clear and the gold touches on it are stunning. There is a true fairy tale sense to it—the designer clearly leaned into the fairy tale inspiration. There are three other cards in the set: A jungle themed one (green), a classic stories one (black) and an all-purpose red themed one. All are clearly designed as books and are blank inside. The set is impressive, and I promise that the $20 price for four is well worth it! I had been dithering over buying the set when I saw them in the Bas Bleu catalog over Christmas, but repetitive stress injuries to my hand made it unlikely that I’d ever write in them, so I passed. Receiving the pink one in the mail made my birthday extra special. Thanks Amy! ❤️ Kate Wolford is the publisher of The Enchanted Press and The Fairy Tale Magazine. On March 26, The Enchanted Press will publish its first novel, Glass and Feathers.

In order to deliver a full year of Fairy Godparents Club benefits to every member, and for organizational purposes, membership will close at 11:59 PM on March 17. Club membership is only $20 for the year! We will officially meet four times this year: March 18, June 17, Oct. 21 and Dec. 16. These meetings will be about celebrating our achievements and sharing our own poetry, prose and art (or a favorite by someone else). I hope to slip in a couple of unofficial fun meetings into the mix as well. And there will always be a giveaway that those who attend the official meetings can enter! (We’ve already done the free reiki course for members this year, but I’m hoping to offer another extra as well. Stay tuned.) To join,  you can email me at katewolford1@gmail.com, and request membership. That is the official email for the site, and for our PayPal account. For bookkeeping and tax purposes we can only accept money through PayPal. If you haven’t signed up yet, please do. This club is a major fundraiser for us. And, I’m currently working on the February insider info email that only Fairy Godparents Club members receive! Yours in Enchantment, 🪄Kate🧚 Image from Pixabay

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.