By Eugie Foster.
Read by Stephen Eley.
Mother sat bolt upright and stared at Oiwa. “Where is your face?” she cried.
Oiwa reached a hand to her cheek. “I-It is at the front of my head, where it always is.”
“No, only half of it,” Mother replied. She glared at me. “I pledge you to return the other half of your sister’s face. Swear it, Yasuo!”
About the Author
In her own words:
I grew up in the Midwest, although I call home a mildly haunted, fey-infested house in metro Atlanta that I share with my husband, Matthew. After receiving my Master of Arts degree in Developmental Psychology, I retired from academia to pen flights of fancy. I also edit legislation for the Georgia General Assembly, which from time to time I suspect is another venture into flights of fancy. (more…)