F. Anne Fischer
F. Anne Fischer is a biochemist by day, and author, poet, and dragon collector at night. She lives in Czechia with her very opinionated cat, Agatha, and visits the local castles as often as possible.
It Fixes Everything
I see the humans are at it again. Lines of salt and iron horseshoes everywhere. It’s so cute of them to think that will help – all it does is point me towards the best places to go. I just stepped over a double line of salt to get into this room, and I’m not disappointed. There’s enough in here to cause mayhem for at least two or three weeks. To start with, I plan to hammer the contents of all of these boxes of nails into the overhead beams. The idiots just left the hammer hanging here in the wall right above them. Have to make sure to bend them while I’m at it, so they can’t pull them back out and use them.
On a tiny street, paved with stones worn smooth by centuries of feet passing over them, sits the poetry bar. As you drag your stool up to the bar, you tell the bartender you’re in the mood for a good haiku. She passes the menu to you, and leaves you to peruse it while she waits on a couple looking for a list of limericks.
400 years. That’s how long I’ve been here, since my most unfortunate death. 400 years, and I’ve never seen anything like it. That’s not to say that I haven’t seen some crazy things over the centuries. Starting with the scheming that went on over my estate, which I regret to say started while I was still very much alive. That’s part of why I stuck around – I was hoping for a chance to avenge my death. It’s too bad I didn’t get a handle on the whole ghost thing in time to do more than blow my murderer’s candle out every night while he was on his way to bed. It did get on his nerves, that. Especially since it happened on a different part of the stairs every time. The hours his servants spent trying to find the source of the draft...
A Sock Fairytale
I knew I shouldn’t have allowed the socks to have free access to the library. After all – what good does it do for a sock to get lofty ideas about the future? But it was such a dull, dreary day, and they were normally such cheerful socks, that I figured a little pick-me-up by way of a story or two couldn’t hurt.
A Night at the Theatre
Eliza blinked rapidly as her eyes focused on the drink in her hand. She glanced up, and her shocked gaze took in theatrical scene around her. Everything in the enormous auditorium was swathed in faded opulence. Scarlet brocade fell in thick cascades from the ornately carved boxes surrounding the balcony. A deep crimson curtain hung heavily over the wooden stage, with the white and gold proscenium soaring above it. It was the sort of splendor that had always enthralled her.