I had a dream about a steampunk world the other day, with flying machines with great big leathery wings and metal cogs. There were spies too, scuttling along alleys and trying to find me while I snapped pictures of broken buildings and strange metal creatures. It was gorgeous and frightening and I didn't want to wake up.
It makes me want to write fantasy. I miss writing fantasy. I wrote a novel once. With winged creatures and shape shifters, elementalists and magic. It was bloody and dark and one of the first things I ever wrote but I was proud of it. It makes me want to try again. Write more.
In the mean time, I made this in the spirit of Magic and Fae Forests....
My head is full of dreams.
Some are scary, but the thought of existing without imagination is far more frightening.
Dance in the woods
What will you find
Feather and Fae
and secrets in kind