Ghost Cakes: A Short Story
By Dorothy A. WinsorWhat form does courage take? What is the shape of love?–Myst, the shapeshifter god The carved horse teetered on its three legs and clattered over onto the table. I prodded its belly. I couldn’t blame it. It was hard to stand up when your legs had been cut out from under you. Mum came out of her room, her step heavy. I snapped my spine straight at the sight of her. Her beautiful hair was completely covered…