“But this is your home''Not any longer, my poppet. Women make nests but men make bequests and scatter them. Heigh-ho!”
“But this is your home''Not any longer, my poppet. Women make nests but men make bequests and scatter them. Heigh-ho!”
Joan Aiken
“They came to the high stone shaft with the face of Sul; they descended to the terrace below. And here Caradog waited, leaning on his silver-tipped rod and eying the horizon, until the delicate slip of the new moon moved out from behind the shoulder of Mount Damyake, with the mysterious, shadowy ghost of the old moon cradle inside it, like an egg inside its egg cup."Now it is time," he”
Joan Aiken, The Stolen Lake“But this is your home''Not any longer, my poppet. Women make nests but men make bequests and scatter them. Heigh-ho!”
Joan Aiken, Eliza's Daughter“Her smile was like a swift light passing across a darkened room.("Hair")”
Joan Aiken, Best New Horror 23“Words are like spices. Too many is worse than too few.”
Joan Aiken, The Last Slice of Rainbow and Other StoriesAll in One Creative & Marketing Platform to tell stories at scale
