Victoria Rose
Bio
Forest-dwelling, fantasy-loving mother of two tiny wildlings. Wife to a mountain man, believer in magic, bad cook, average gardener, dreamer, artist, sun-worshipper.
I write what I know - my children, my health & body, autism, women, nature
Stories (5)
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Skellyboy
Skellyboy is a nice guy, tidy and respectful, but he lives in a crypt with other, less nice skeletons. While Skellyboy sweeps up and keeps the braziers burning, the other skeletons are setting traps for adventurers and pushing each other over so they fall to pieces. Skellyboy also has a secret. Where all the other skeletons – and probably any skeleton you’ve ever met or heard of – are a plain, whitish grey, Skellyboy was pure glitter. Not just a bit shiny, or sprinkled in a handful of sequins, but solid, brilliant glitter. He’d checked one time by snapping his pinky bone to see inside. Sure enough, he was diamond-sparkly right to the core.
By Victoria Rose3 months ago in Gamers
Vera
Where others had glowing curls, Vera had flames and writhing snakes for hair, usually green, but ever changeable with her moods. Instead of soft, pastel petals and gossamer, she wore a dress of felted cobwebs and papery leaves. Vera was not graceful like her kin. She did not float from one flower to another like a gentle breeze, her voice didn’t sound like sunshine or soft rain, and she couldn’t gently wave a delicate hand to effortlessly command objects to move or repair themselves or do any one of a million other things her fellow fairies did almost without thinking. These being the variety of fae to prefer dancing with butterflies and sweetly singing melodies with the birds, rather than tricking mortals into giving up their first-born children, or other such nefarious things.
By Victoria Rose3 months ago in Fiction
The Tree
Deep in the forest was a large, old tree. Not just large, but vast, and not just old, but ancient. This tree was so wide and tall that you might think it would blot out the sun, darkening the forest floor. Yet somehow it allowed just the right amount of light to filter through its leaves, so that the ground was not left wanting of warmth. Instead of darkness and damp at its feet, there was colour and life. Soft green moss crept over the earth and climbed its trunk. Small white flowers, like tiny fallen stars, were sprinkled around the base, and the delicate tendrils of a vine slowly made their way over and around the roots of the ancient tree.
By Victoria Rose7 months ago in Fiction
