From The Narrator, Chapter 8


Arianna took a deep breath, as if she were about to plunge underwater. She took one cautious step into the forest.

Nothing happened.

Berating herself as the silliest girl in the Three Kingdoms, she continued at a normal pace. She brushed away her queasiness as unfounded anxiety. She would be fine. She wouldn’t be going far enough into the woods to trigger the magic.

She would be fine.

Her gaze scanned the underbrush for tell-tale white feathers. The hard-packed earth was a good sign. Back in Arendelle, the boggy soil liked to swallow arrows whole.

A flicker of white caught her eye, and she groaned. Her arrow wasn’t in the ground after all. It was in a tree. She’d split a sapling in two. The smaller strip of trunk bowed out around the arrow like a warped basket.

With a sigh, she grabbed the arrow and pulled —

— and then the vision pulled her in.

Jennifer A. Johnson is a newly published fantasy writer thanks to The Adventure of Creation anthology. She's still revising her first novel, but you can sign up for her free newsletter to pass the time.