Fairy Tales are just for children - In the adult version, everyone dies...

My tale starts with a 'once upon a time' — A long time ago, beings lived who could control the elements, immortality, and time. We called them gods and gave them our worship. They played with us like toys, took our lives and sabotaged our love. Now, the gods are myths. Stories in books—not to be confused with our modern world. I believed this until I found myself tumbling into a dream. This dream takes me to another life. To a forgotten time in a bloody age. I dream of Hades’s son, and a lustful goddess. I dream of limitless power and revolving time. I dream a death and love that was mine...

                 My name is Cara Wynter— and this is my story."

Cara Wynter is a literature student living with her twin sister, Lily, in Fairhaven Washington. A daughter of witches, touch brings Cara only pain, and dark visions of pasts and futures she can rarely change. Already fighting to exist in her strange reality, she begins to crumble when the dreams come. For thirteen nights, vivid nightmares force her to relive her own death on a golden altar, as she sacrifices herself for the man she loves, who’s name she can not remember. In a desperate attempt to unlock the secrets in the violent images, she finds herself lost in a contest between love—and the will of the ancient gods. With only forgotten memories and the pages of a book to guide her, she struggles to understand her past and break a deadly curse. To do so, Cara must face her worst fears—to save the soul of a god she has treasured for centuries, and a love she cannot live without.

 

We dwell in the hidden past and the rolling present. We can only remember what we have lived--and we never know when we die. We are mortal, and we are soul. We are scattered ashes and disintegrating bones--we are shadows. Our lives nothing more than a tiny murmur in time. For us, death is a fearful thing. We know it is coming, and we know too, whatever we loved must be left behind--much too prematurely. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Then it is over. Our lives, our souls--all that we were--gone. Snuffed out by something we could not control. But what if there was a way to do it again? To come back and make it right. It is said that the last enemy to be conquered is death, but I believe we conquer life when we die. If a soul could be reborn--what then? Would it be strong enough to live a second time? Would we--weak, fallible mortals be able to endure the struggle, the fear and finally the submission, as we give ourselves over to the bite of what must be?

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