Search Results

Once upon a time a farmer’s wife stood looking out of her window. “If only I had a daughter with hair the color of our wheatfield,” she sighed, “I would love her, even if she could speak no more than the wind rustling through the sheaves.” And soon enough a little girl was born to the farmer and his wife; her hair was a golden as ripened wheat, but she never made a sound. They named her Hush, and she learned to write and draw, chattering away as gaily through her scribbles and drawings as any child ever did through speech. The girl was as pretty as a picture and as good as gold, and no one ever minded her silence, or the way she had of staring as if drinking them up. Hush drew things into herself and poured them out again in paint. By the time she was a young maiden the farmhouse was decorated with Hush’s paintings, beautiful things that glowed as if with an inner light. But one day the farmer’s wife fell ill. Hush sat by her mother’s bedside, stroking her hand, but her mother did not respond. Days went by, and her mother worsened. Hush and her father sat silently together as the mother’s breath slowed, and finally stopped. Hush looked up through her tears to see Death standing at the head of the bed. But Death was not looking at her mother. He was looking at the painting behind Hush, a golden summer afternoon. Then Death looked at Hush. “There is little beauty in my home,” he said. “Come to my house, paint the most beautiful picture of your heart for me, and I will spare your mother.” Hush nodded. At the empty castle of Death the dead souls filed by the arched windows, silently, endlessly. Death brought paints and canvases and brushes, and gave Hush a wide dark room lit by many candles. “Paint,” he said. Hush painted. She painted from her memory, the animals and landscapes and people she had loved every day of her life. But she felt that something was not right, and tore the canvases apart. More paints, Hush wrote to Death. Silent, he brought pots and tubes and jars from all over the world. He bought colors she had never seen before, heavy blocks that had be ground into fine powder and mixed with water. Hush painted. She painted from her imagination, storybook creatures and mysterious grottos and fairy lights dancing. The wondrous pigments gave her paintings an ethereal quality they had never possessed before. Yet still something was not right, and again Hush destroyed her paintings. More candles, Hush wrote. Death brought tall white pillars and surrounded the easel with flames so that the room was as bright as noon. The souls filing by the windows shielded their eyes with their withered hands. Hush painted. She painted from her dreams, shadowed and ominous. Her paintings were as dark as the room was light. Grim faces seemed to leer from her backgrounds, and her subjects grew strange and tormented, mouths twisted in silent screams. She did not destroy these, but sat troubled, looking at them as they dried. Death came to look at her latest works. “You can no longer paint beauty,” he said. “You must return and I will take your mother.” Hush raised her hands in mute despair. “One last night,” he said. All night Hush sat in front of her canvas. Not a single beautiful image would come; her mind was in darkness and turmoil. Finally she began painting, slowly at first but then faster and faster, as the candles burned lower. When morning came she collapsed to the floor and slept. Death returned and looked at Hush’s final painting. It was not beautiful. It was a portrait of Death himself, and he saw that it was more terrible and magnificent than anything she had painted yet. He leaned in and looked closer, seeing himself the mirror of Hush’s despair. She had drawn him into herself and poured him out again on the canvas. Hush awoke in her own bed, with her father and mother holding her hands on either side, crying with joy at her return. Hush squeezed her parents’ hands and smiled. But she did not understand why Death had sent her back and spared her mother when she had not fulfilled her promise. She stood by the window, staring out at the wheatfield. As the wind rustled through the sheaves, she felt her heart lift. She picked up her brush. Amy Bennett-Zendzian holds an MA/MFA from Simmons College and an MA from Boston University. She is a Lecturer in Writing at Boston University, where she teaches courses on fairy tales. She has published poetry in Gingerbread House Literary Magazine and the NonBinary Review, and her short plays have been produced around the Boston area. Cover: Amanda Bergloff @AMANDABERGLOFF

Following the first book in the Crowns of Nyaxia series, The Ashes and the Star Cursed King has arrived. In this new tale Oraya must continue her journey as a human in a world of winged vampires. After the loss of her father at the end of the Kejari trials, Oraya questions herself and everything her life has come to be. Following Rhain’s ascension to the throne, she must choose a side, the rebels still loyal to her father’s throne, or the man she once loved. She is a queen now, and power is hers for the taking if only she had the courage to reach out and grab it once more. This book is a wild roller coaster of action, murder, mystery, and intrigue and it followed up the first book extremely well. This series is an excellent fit for those who enjoy a heaping teaspoon of romance with their fantasy. As I had loved the first book, I was delighted by the quick release of the second book, but nervous to see whether or not it would be as good as the first, and I was not disappointed. In fact, I think the plot was even better in this book since Oraya spends more time in court so we as the readers get to discover a bit more of the history and politics of her land. Whether or not to trust Rhain as the readers though provides a real moral question. After the first book, I think we were all wondering whether or not he was going to turn out as a good character any more because he’d crossed such a boundary in Oraya’s life. However I think the second book has great character arcs for both of them, and we get to meet some exciting new figures as well. If you haven’t checked out this series yet, it’s a perfect cold weather read, and will sate any romantasy fanatic like me. Happy reading! You can find a copy HERE. Madeline Mertz is FTM's editorial intern and is a Truman State University student with literary journal experience.

When Buffy the Vampire Slayer made her debut in the 90s, first in film and later on TV, she was a bit of a revelation: a pretty, petite blonde who just happened to be the Chosen One when it came to killing vampires. Buffy was reluctant, even uninterested in sharpening her natural, superhuman gifts, but in the end, she had no choice but to become a super-powered action hero in leggings, chunky-heeled boots, and a leather jacket. While the TV series clearly dug into “high school as Hell” metaphors, unpacking the pain of mean girls, first love, growing up, and getting through classes with a passing grade, poet Kim Malinowski has different levels of Hell in mind. Step right up and enter Buffy’s House of Mirrors, if you dare. Buffy’s House of Mirrors follows the unnamed narrator into a carnival funhouse where she examines herself and her relationships in an ever-shifting series of reflections, exploring body image, empowerment, and identity. Punctuated by Gabby Gilliam's bold yet simple illustrations, Malinowski’s poems are evocative and raw, consistently delivering powerful lines like, “No one can tell us how to live being us,” and “’Who am I?’/I cannot say/I have only been told.” The narrator takes off her Buffy-colored glasses and sings, dances, even raps her way through mirror after mirror, alternately comparing herself to and proudly standing apart from Buffy and Spike. Malinowski gets into the jagged corners of relationships, at her sharpest when holding the stake to her own heart. Whether reflecting on self-love, agency, or longing, Buffy’s House of Mirrors slays it! Lissa Sloan is the author of Glass and Feathers, a novel that tells the story of Cinderella after the “happily ever after.” The Enchanted Press will publish it next February.

Writer, Poet, Professor. These three words hang beneath my name on the new website I recently created to showcase my work, and although each word is an accurate term for the daily jobs that I perform, a part of me is still surprised each time I see them blink across the screen. For most of my life, I have been my parents’ daughter, my husband’s wife, my children’s mother. I have defined myself, as so many women do, by my relationships with others rather than by the titles I have earned through my work. I have written prose and poetry since I was a child. I have been teaching classes at local universities since my own children were born. But, when I first typed the words writer, poet, professor, beneath my name on the homepage of my website, it felt strange, as though I had cloaked my identity in restrictive business attire when it was used to lounging around in cozy pajamas. I created my website to help promote The Fairy Tale Magazine, a publication that I love. It was Kate Wolford, the founder and publisher of The Fairy Tale Magazine (formerly Enchanted Conversation), who became my fairy godmother, helping me to turn the scribbles in my notebooks into stories and poems I could share with the world. A couple of those stories and poems can be found in printed books, but much of my published writing and many of my posts and book reviews can be found online, so I linked my work to my website along with some information about me and my teaching. I connected my website to my Facebook and Instagram accounts so that interested readers can follow me on social media, and, finally, I wrote my first blog post, “Salutations: Charlotte’s Web and the Invisibility of the Author”, an essay that explores one of my favorite childhood novels and the influence it still has on my reading and writing today. I love being a daughter, a wife, and a mother, but collecting and sharing my work on my website has helped me to realize that I can also claim the titles of writer, poet, and professor to define key aspects of my identity. These titles don’t have to feel stiff and uncomfortable; the longer I wear them, the faster they will break in, wrapping around me like a favorite sweater that complements any outfit, no matter the season. I plan to add more writing, information, and free giveaways to my website in the months and years to come. I want my website to be a place where friends can gather to learn more about fairy tales, books, writing, and literature. I hope my website will offer my followers a space to find inspiration, celebrate creativity, and enjoy the everyday enchantment that comes from being part of a reading and writing community.

Editor’s note: This story appealed to us because it has a classic fairy tale structure, combined with beautiful details—especially about the Firebird. The story reminds us of why we love fairy tales! Once upon a time there were three witches. They were sisters and they each lived alone in her own hut deep in the darkest forest. The oldest sister was feared by all the surrounding villages. She was known as mean and wicked and most people left her alone. Occasionally, a knight would show up, intending to kill her. But he stood no chance against her in her own home. She had a collection of human skulls on her fence posts surrounding her hut to warn away any other brave young men that came to try to challenge her. The middle sister was also known by the surrounding villages. But she was loved and trusted by those who came to her in need. The middle sister was often willing to give aid to the sick and injured. She also offered potions and lucky charms to those who could convince her that they were in need. The oldest sister and the middle sister did not get along at all, for they had very differing views about how a witch should behave amongst the human world. The oldest thought witches were better and more important than others because of their power given to them by Mother Earth. The middle sister felt that witches were given the power to aid humans and other creatures and that they were to behave with benevolence and authority over the poor wretched villagers that were tasked to them. The youngest of the three sisters had a secret. She lived deep in the dark woods and she wasn’t known by the people of the villages. She wasn’t mean, she didn’t have to go up against young knights who were looking to prove themselves. She wasn’t known for her healing or her spells and wasn’t sought after by the sick of body, mind, or heart. But she did have her secret. On All Hallows’ Eve, the three sisters were in the forest collecting mushrooms for use in meals and potions. And in hopes of coming upon a firebird. Firebirds were magical creatures that were exceedingly rare indeed. Coming across a firebird was considered to be very lucky and one who could even touch it was considered to have the most powerful magic themselves. A firebird could only be found on All Hallows’ Eve, as it was the only day of the year that they could be seen with human eyes. The youngest of the three sisters was the first to see the firebird. He was beautiful and regal, sitting tall in the tree with his red feathers blazing hot in the dappled sunlight that found him through the orange and yellow autumn leaves above. She could see waves of heat rippling off his body and into the air. His long tail dangled far below the branch he sat on and the plume on his head bobbled back and forth as he cocked his head to the side to look at her. She ran over to her older sisters to point him out to them. She was so happy that she was the one that was lucky enough to see the bird first as he stared down at them. The bird sat high up in a tree and looked down at them with a casual glance. He seemed unconcerned that the three witches below him were very excited to see him. For he was not at all excited to see them. He did, however, seem to have an interest in the youngest witch. He shifted from one foot to the other on his perch and watched them with curiosity as they moved closer to him. The three sisters whispered among themselves. The oldest sister wanted to capture the bird and kill him to drain his magical essence. The middle sister wanted to catch him and bring him home as a pet, so she could utilize his magic when necessary. The youngest sister wished she hadn’t pointed the poor creature out to her sisters at all and looked up at the bird with apologetic eyes as her sister witches put together a plan. The oldest witch had some leftover bread in her pocket. She had brought it with her in case she got hungry. She volunteered to use the bread to lure the bird out of his tree and down to the ground so they could capture the creature. The middle sister had brought a large dark green cloak with her, in case she got cold deep in the forest. She said she could use the cloak to throw over the bird when he came down to the ground to eat the bread. The two sisters agreed that they would decide what to do with the bird once he was captured. The youngest sister watched the bird closely and hoped that he didn’t like bread and that the crumbs that her oldest sister sprinkled on the ground would be of no interest to the bird. The two older sisters put their plan into action, and much to the youngest sister’s disappointment, the bird came down out of the tree and floated gracefully to the ground and started to eat the bits of bread that the oldest sister had scattered on the ground. The middle sister threw her cloak over the bird and it squawked in anger as it thrashed around under the heavy green cloak. The three sisters jumped towards the bird, with the older two sisters trying to grab the bird as he thrashed around under the cloak. The youngest sister, feeling for the bird, lunged forward and grabbed the corner of the cloak. She pretended to stumble backwards and pulled the cloak hard, releasing the bird from her sisters’ attempts to capture him. The bird’s head appeared out the far end of the cloak from where the youngest sister still held on to it, and as the bird spread his wings, he knocked over the older two sisters, through the cloak, and forced them to stumble backwards. All three sisters scrambled on the ground to try to regain their footing, but it was too late. The firebird took off in a burst of flames that forced the older two sisters to cover their faces in order to protect themselves from the power of the bird. He soared high into the air and off into the evening sunset. The youngest sister looked at her hand and found that she had accidentally pulled two tail feathers from the bird when she tried to rescue him. She hid the feathers in her skirt pocket quickly, before her sisters could see. She handed her middle sister back her cloak and stared at the ground. The middle sister snatched the cloak away from the youngest sister and the oldest sister swore curses at the youngest for her clumsiness and stupidity, and for costing them the chance at obtaining a firebird for another year. The three sisters went back to their homes, the older two in anger and disappointment. The youngest went home in relief and was glad that the firebird had gotten away safely. Late that night, under the light of the full moon, there was a knock at the youngest sister’s door. She climbed out of bed and looked out the window to see a tall man dressed as a knight standing at her front door. She went to her door and opened it just slightly. “Hello?” she said. She felt like her voice was stuck in her throat. “I am here on behalf of Magnus the Magnificent,” the knight said. “He has sent me to bring you back to the royal castle. You were chosen to be his apprentice, should you accept this honor.” “I’m sorry,” the youngest sister opened the door wider. “You must be looking for one of my sisters.” “No,” the knight shook his head. “I was sent by Magnus himself and his directions to your humble home were very specific.” “You must really have the wrong sister,” she said again. “For you see, I have no magical powers like my sisters do.” “And that is the secret that you have been hiding for all these years,” a voice said from behind the knight. The youngest sister squinted into the pale light that the moon cast down on the man that was standing behind the knight. “Yes,” she nodded. “It is.” The knight moved aside to let the other man pass. He was an old man with a long white beard and a full head of white hair. He had bushy white eyebrows and he wore a long red cloak that seemed to flicker like firelight in the light of the full moon. “You’re Magnus?” the youngest sister said. “The warlock who serves the king?” “Yes, I am,” the old man said. “And what is your name?” “My name is Nix,” she said. “You obtained something today, Nix,” the old man said. “Did you not?” The youngest sister nodded. “May I see them?” Magnus asked. Nix went inside and retrieved the two firebird feathers from the pocket of her skirt that was laying on a chair by the fire. “Firebird feathers,” Magnus nodded. “You do know that only one with the most powerful magic can touch a firebird.” “I didn’t really touch him,” Nyx said. “I was just trying to rescue him from my sisters.” “Yes,” the old man nodded. “And I appreciate that greatly.” “You’re—” Nix started. “Yes,” Magnus said. “I was that firebird. And the fact that you hold two of my feathers in your hand proves that you touched me while we were out in the forest today.” “But I have no magical powers,” Nyx said. “Not like my sisters.” “That is where you are wrong,” Magnus said. “You have more magic than both of your sisters combined, you just need to learn how to use it. And I have chosen you to become my apprentice because of your vast powers and your mercy.” Nyx looked at the two feathers in her hand. Magnus smiled at the young girl and said, “Come with me and I will show you the power you have. I will train you to become the most powerful witch in the land. Be my apprentice and you can take my place as advisor to the king and become the head sorceress of the kingdom.” “Are you sure I have magic?” Nyx asked. Magnus nodded. “I will teach you how to release the magic that is inside of you. You will become greater than your sisters, and they will no longer drain you of your power.” Nyx looked up at him in shock. “Yes,” he nodded. “Your secret isn’t that you have no magic, it is that your sisters use you for your power.” “And I can escape them if I go with you?” she asked. “Yes,” Magnus said. “But my middle sister, she does good with the magic,” Nyx said. “She heals people.” “With stolen magic,” Magnus said. “The people can come to you instead.” “What will happen to my sisters?” Nyx asked. “Whatever you decide for their fate,” Magnus said. “They have both committed a great crime in draining you of your power. Stealing magic from another is punishable by death.” Nyx stared at the feathers in her hands. “Can I have them spared?” Nyx asked. “For they are my sisters.” “Only if you come with me,” Magnus said. “Only if you work for the king can you have the authority to ask that your sisters be spared.” Nyx looked at the feathers in her hands. “So, you were the firebird?” she asked. “Yes,” Magnus nodded. “The most powerful magical creature in existence. And you will be the next firebird, with my training.” Nyx ran her fingers along the soft, hot barbs of the feathers. “We must hurry. It is almost midnight, and the apprentice ceremony can only be done in the moonlight on All Hallows’ Eve,” Magnus said. She smiled up at Magnus and said, “I accept your offer.” Born and raised in California, Judy Lunsford now lives in Arizona with her husband and Giant Schnoodle, Amos. She writes with dyslexia and a chronic illness (Meniere’s Disease), is hard of hearing, & is a breast cancer survivor. She writes mostly fantasy, but occasionally delves into suspense, women’s lit, and YA fiction. She has written books and short stories for all ages. She likes playing RPG’s and drinking lots of coffee. Cover Graphic: Amanda Bergloff Cover Painting: "The Firebird," Yelena Polenova, 1898

If you are familiar with Baba Yaga, you may think she’s a terrifying, iron-toothed, big-nosed witch who just might help you on your quest if you are very, very good. On the other hand, she might put you in her oven and eat you. But when you pick up The Witch and the Tsar, be prepared to think again. Olesya Salnikova Gilmore's debut novel features a reimagined Baba Yaga in Ivan the Terrible's Russia, and her story is very different than you might expect. It begins in the woods where Yaga, a hundreds-of-years-old half-human, half-goddess, lives in her famous chicken-legged hut, Little Hen. Her only other companions are Noch, a sharp-tongued owl, and Dyen, a huge, ever-loyal wolf. Though Yaga keeps her distance from the mortals, she always helps those who come in search of her healing magic. But everything changes when her friend Anastasia, wife of the Tsar, comes to beg for her aid. The young Tsaritsa is dying, and no one but Yaga can help. Ivan the Terrible, 16th century Russia, and Russian mythology are all subjects I know very little about. But I love to learn, and I really love to be transported somewhere new (or old), and The Witch and the Tsar doesn’t disappoint. It features an impressive cast of complex real-life figures like Ivan the Terrible appearing side by side with Russian fairy tale characters like warrior princess Marya Morevna and sometime villain Koshey the Deathless. These multilayered and fascinating characters were among my favorites in the book. Giving Yaga a place in the Russian pantheon of immortals and entwining them in historical events makes for an intriguing story I’d recommend to fans of Kate Forsyth, Katherine Arden, and Mary McMyne. The Witch and the Tsar is a rich blend of history and fairy tales, and at its heart is a flesh and blood woman who must risk being human. Lissa Sloan is the author of Glass and Feathers, a novel that tells the story of Cinderella after the “happily ever after.” The Enchanted Press will publish it next February.

Editor’s note: The use of folk magic in this poem, along with its economy of words, paints a truly magical picture for the reader. And we love the twist at the end! You can keep witches from your door With two dead cats Underneath your floor. To guard against witches’ evil looks Press four leaf clovers In a heavy book. A better way to keep out ill Is a jar of broken pins On the windowsill. Both mistletoe and the rowan’s wood Will keep out the bad And in the good. Add horseshoes nailed to the front porch posts To give fair warning To the devil’s hosts. Then cross your fingers behind your back Throw salt past your shoulder Don’t step on a crack. Because you see it’s all their doing The still born calf The failed seed sowing. Behind the guise of midwife and nurse A witch works her evil And plants her curse. If you work these charms free of fear or doubt God will dwell within And the witch without. Don’t dwell upon that disquieting glitch That if your spells work Then you’re the witch. Wendy Purcell was a nurse, now she writes. Her short stories and poems have appeared in [Untitled], Braindrip, Unusual Works, Every Day Fiction, Vautrin and The Haibun Journal. She lives near Melbourne, Australia and is often in her garden that is both too big and yet never big enough. Image: Pixabay

The Witch is Back, by Sophie H. Morgan, is a fun, escapist story about young witches in love. Emmaline Bluewater, a low-ranking witch with plant magic, left the witch community of New Orleans after being abandoned by her fiancé, Bastian Truenote, a charming warlock from a prominent family who possess the powers of mind magic. Embarrassed and ridiculed for being left at the altar, Emma moves to Chicago and opens a bar for humans which is aptly named Toil and Trouble. When Bastian returns after several years and tells Emma he needs her to marry him to prevent a negative consequence of their broken engagement contract, the couple is thrust back into a relationship and must navigate the magical circumstances that have kept them apart. This book is a steamy romance novel set in a magical world, but the story is truly about two people who have grown and changed since their early adulthood and must learn to fall in love with one another again. Obstacles to their emerging love abound, and scenes that explore difficult family conflicts are set against scenes that fully describe the budding sexual relationship between Emma and Bastion. The plot unfolds in a world where witches communicate through mirrors, travel the globe by opening portals, and add telekinetic fingers to their sexual encounters, so an air of magic permeates the real-world settings and concerns in the book. This book is not high fantasy or high literature, but readers looking for a spicy tale of love that takes place in a contemporary world populated by witches will enjoy the romantic escape. The story provides plenty of secrets for readers to uncover, and the novel ultimately underscores the importance of both choice and love in securing a happily ever after. This was a fun romcom read! You can learn more about the book here. Thank you to NetGalley for a free copy of the book in exchange for a fair review. Kelly Jarvis is the Special Projects Writer and Contributing Editor for The Fairy Tale Magazine. Her work has appeared in Eternal Haunted Summer, Blue Heron Review, Forget-Me-Not Press, Mermaids Monthly, The Chamber Magazine, and Mothers of Enchantment: New Tales of Fairy Godmothers. She teaches at Central Connecticut State University.

WELCOME FALL! "It's the first day of autumn! A time of hot chocolatey mornings, and toasty marshmallow evenings, and, best of all, leaping into leaves!" ~ A. A. Milne Fall is a magical time of year when the wild beauty of nature takes one last colorful breath before winter sets in. We look forward to the vibrant leaves falling around us on a windy day, the earlier sunsets when we can cozy up around a firepit outdoors with friends, wearing comfy sweaters again, buying just the right pumpkin for the front porch, picking out books from a used bookstore on a crisp Saturday morning, and so many more things that inspire and revive our spirit at this time of year. To inspire you too, we've collected some of our favorite things about fall...so please enjoy the quotes, art and folklore below that highlight this beautiful season! ~The Months of Autumn~ SEPTEMBER There are flowers enough in the summertime, More flowers than I can remember- But none with the purple, gold, and red That dye the flowers of September! ~ Mary Howitt OCTOBER October glows on every cheek, October shines in every eye, While up the hill and dawn the dale Her crimson banners fly. ~ Elaine Goodale Eastman NOVEMBER November comes And November goes, With the last red berries And the first white snows. With night coming early, And dawn coming late, And ice in the bucket And frost by the gate. The fires burn And the kettles sing, And earth seeks to rest Until the next spring. ~ Clyde Watson "Smoke hangs like haze over harvested fields, The gold of stubble, the brown of turned earth And you walk under the red light of fall The scent of fallen apples, the dust of threshed grain The sharp, gentle chill of fall. Here as we move into the shadows of autumn The night that brings the morning of spring Come to us, Lord of Harvest Teach us to be thankful for the gifts you bring us ..." ~ Autumn Equinox Ritual FALL FOLKLORE Married in September’s golden glow, smooth and serene your life will go. If the storms of September clear off warm, the storms of the following winter will be warm. Much rain in October, much wind in December. If trees show buds in November, the winter will last until May. There is no better month in the year to cut wood than November. According to an old superstition, if you catch a red or gold leaf falling from a tree during autumn, you'll be free of colds for the next year. Another variation on this superstition is that for every leaf you catch, you will have a lucky month the following year. And, once you have caught your leaf, keep it safely throughout the winter, until new green buds appear on the trees in the spring. Scarecrows can protect fall crops, but they must be given hats to keep them cool in the sun, and once they're given clothes, a human can never wear those clothes again as it will bring them bad luck. Click the video below for an easy DIY fall luminary project to light those autumn evenings. How silently they tumble down And come to rest upon the ground To lay a carpet, rich and rare, Beneath the trees without a care, Content to sleep, their work well done, Colors gleaming in the sun. At other times, they wildly fly Until they nearly reach the sky. Twisting, turning through the air Till all the trees stand stark and bare. Exhausted, drop to earth below To wait, like children, for the snow. ~ Elsie N. Brady Dancing of the autumn leaves on a surface of a lake is a dream we see when we are awake. ~ Mehmet Murat Ildan SONG FOR AUTUMN Don't you imagine the leaves dream now how comfortable it would be to touch the earth instead of the nothingness of the air and the endless freshets of wind? And don't you think the trees especially those with mossy hollows, are beginning to look for the birds that will come - six, a dozen - to sleep inside their bodies? And don't you hear the goldenrod whispering goodbye, the everlasting being crowned with the first tuffets of snow? The pond stiffens and the white field over which the fox runs so quickly brings out its long blue shadows. The wind wags its many tails. And in the evening, the piled firewood shifts a little, longing to be on its way. ~ Mary Oliver PUMPKIN PIE SQUARES Click on the video below for a super easy fall pumpkin dessert! “If a year was tucked inside of a clock, then autumn would be the magic hour." ~ Victoria Erickson "No spring nor summer beauty hath such grace as I have seen in one autumnal face." ~ John Donne The Full Moons of AUTUMN The Harvest Moon September 29, 2023 This is the full moon closest to the autumn equinox. It rises within a half-hour of when the sun sets, and when farmers had no tractors, it was essential that they work by the light of this full moon to bring in the harvest. ------ The Hunter's Moon October 28, 2023 The Hunter's Moon was given its name because it was at this time that tribes gathered meat for the long winter ahead. ------ The Beaver Moon November 27, 2023 The full moon for November is named the Beaver Moon because this is the time that beavers become particularly active building their winter dams in preparation for the cold season. Since the beaver is mainly nocturnal, they can be seen working under the light of this full moon. AUTUMN ART GALLERY At the First Touch of Winter Summer Fades Away, Valentine Cameron Prinsep, 1897 Girl on a Swing, Maxfield Parrish, 1905 Woman with Autumn Leaves, Andrew Stovovich, 1994 Autumn, Simeon Solomon, 19th Century Autumn, Levitan Sokolniki, 1879 Autumn, Alphonse Mucha, 1896 Autumn Angel, I. R. Outhwaite, 1916 The Bower Meadow, Dante Gabriel Rosetti, 1872 Wishing everyone a magical fall! Share what you love about this season in the comments section below The Fairy Tale Magazine's contributing editor, Amanda Bergloff, writes modern fairy tales, folktales, and speculative fiction. Her work has appeared in various anthologies, including Frozen Fairy Tales, After the Happily Ever After, and Uncommon Pet Tales. Follow her on Twitter @AMANDABERGLOFF

Editor’s note: THE HOLLY AND OAK KINGS are probably still locked in battle, as we roll toward the end of the Summer Solstice, but Alicia’s gorgeous poem about all four seasons will keep us in the magical mood! Winter Requiem fairy folk gather beside a fresh grave snowflakes and tears glisten on their faces winged tribe grieves for the Elm King Spring Equinox a hillside covered in bluebells crocus freesia fragrant blossoms assuage the Elm Queen’s grief Sultry Beltane fairies build a bonfire the Elm Queen’s mage tosses herbs on the blaze smoke smells like magic and hope they sing ballads celebrate spring Summer Solstice fairy folk link hands encircle a sacred elm chant courtship spells songbirds echo their incantations Autumn Equinox fairy folk gather under a canopy of elm leaves amidst a storm they paint symbols on sacred tree rising gale shrieks a face appears in the clouds Lightning Strike severs the tree trunk inside the elm a fairy awakens new Elm King greets his bride. Alicia Hilton is an author, law professor, arbitrator, actor, and former FBI Special Agent. She believes in angels and demons, magic and monsters. Alicia’s recent work has appeared or is forthcoming in Best Indie Speculative Fiction Volume 3, Daily Science Fiction, Demain Publishing UK, Departure Mirror, DreamForge, Enchanted Conversation, Litro, Neon, Sci Phi Journal, Space and Time, Vastarien, Year’s Best Hardcore Horror Volumes 4, 5 & 6, and elsewhere. Image by Elisabeth Sonrel

Greta and Hans survived. They escaped the witch and made it home to their father in a happy ending to a horrific tale. Fifteen years later, the siblings still share the family home, and Greta makes a living baking her incredible gingerbread to sell in their Black Forest village of Lindenfeld. But Hans has not coped as well as his sister. He is spinning out of control with a dangerous gambling habit that has put their mountain home in jeopardy. A group of mercenary soldiers appears in the village, and the new baroness doubles the taxes, allowing the poor to pay a “Blood Tithe” with their labor in lieu of money. Though she doesn’t dare reveal the secret behind her addictive gingerbread--the witch’s book of magic--for fear of reawakening the villagers’ suspicions about her, Greta must find a way to protect her home and those she loves before it’s too late. Though After the Forest is a continuation of “Hansel and Gretel,” returning to the siblings as adults, Kell Woods’ debut novel is so much more. She expertly mixes other classic fairy tales into a 17th century European post-war setting complete with witch trials and a sadistic noblewoman. Binding these elements is the emotional throughline of adults healing from childhood trauma, inviting the reader to examine “Hansel and Gretel” through a very different lens. The result is an enchanting (sometimes tear-jerking) concoction spiced with shapeshifting wolves, a cursed bear, green witches, and gorgeous fairy tale symbolism, and I devoured every word. If you’re looking for a wondrous and terrifying fairy tale, Kell Woods has the secret ingredient. Magic, love, loss, and adventure; After the Forest has it all. You can pre-order a copy HERE. Lissa Sloan is the author of Glass and Feathers, a novel that tells the story of Cinderella after the “happily ever after.” The Enchanted Press will publish it next February.

Dear FTM Readers, As we shift from the serial version and prepare for next year’s print and ebook release, Kate and I are so delighted to share the new cover design of Glass and Feathers! This is one of so many firsts for us in the publishing of The Enchanted Press’s first book, and one of the most exciting. The design team at eBook Launch worked with us to create an image that captures the dark and magical feel of my Cinderella continuation that asks, “What happens after Happy Ever After?” We love the period font and glass slipper design, the somber yet sparkling color palate that feels so very fairy tale, the vines that offer a whispered hint at a pumpkin shape, and of course, the sparrow at the top. Glass and Feathers will be available in ebook and print in March of 2024, and we couldn’t have done it without you. Here’s to the next step of the journey. Thank you for walking this path with us!