29 October 2013

Tuesday's Tales ~ A skit

Welcome to
Tuesday's Tales 

Once again, many thanks to all those who drop by each week. I also appreciate, and often act upon comments and suggestions left.  Many thanks.

This week's snippet is a tongue cheek skit born out of my weird sense of humour, and begins with this week's word prompt Sweet
The sweet scent of lilacs permeated the room and emphasized the picture, of lilacs in a vase, on the wall above the bed. As a child Norma had loved coming into her grandmother’s room and studying the scene of the horse-drawn hay-cart passing the cottage.
“Your grandfather painted that two weeks before he was killed.”
Her grandmother’s reedy voice shifted Norma’s gaze from the painting to the woman lying in the bed. Her once vibrant wavy red hair had long since turned silver had thinned to allow a pink sheen to peep through.
She knew. She’d been there when the same horse, startled by a barking dog that ran in front of it had bolted down the road. Before the young Norma could register the unfolding events she’d found herself thrown into the hedge and out of harm’s way. At the cost of his own, her grandfather had saved her life that day.
Survivor’s guilt. Norma had heard their neighbours talking about it without understanding. She’d been too busy wondering when Granny would start blaming her for her granddad’s death. Instead her grandmother had wrapped her arms around the desolate child and offered comfort and sympathy.
“He’s waiting for me.” Grandma said now and reached out with her knurled hand to take Norma’s in a surprisingly strong grip. “But I’m not ready yet. There are things I have to tell you.”
“You should rest.” Norma leaned across the satin bedspread and planted a kiss in her grandmother’s palm.
“Time enough for that.” The wrinkled hand shifted, cupped Norma’s face and feathered a caress down her cheek. “Listen to me child, this is important.” A bout of coughing brought an abrupt end to the earnest entreaty.
When Norma offered a glass of water with a straw, her grandmother sipped, her eyes holding Norma’s all the time she sipped.
“Behind the mirror…”

Norma had to lean close to her grandmother’s face to make out the words now. “What?” She looked across the room to the mirror hanging on the wall. Outside the nearby church bells pealed, and the setting sun turned the sky to flame. It wouldn’t be long before the sun slid behind the wood-clad hill at the edge of the village.
Pushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear, Norma waited, but her grandmother had slipped into sleep.
Stepping away from the bed Norma stretched to ease the tightness in her back. The reflected movement caught her attention, she’d check the back of the mirror while her grandmother slept, and crossed the room to lift the mirror from its hook.
The heavy walnut frame held a wooden back that kept the mirror in place and as far as she could see, Norma failed to detect anything out of the ordinary about it.
Setting it on the floor in front of her toes, Norma looked round for her torch. Had her grandmother even meant this mirror? There was one, hanging on the wall opposite every window. And there were a lot of windows in this house.
Thank you for reading this week's offering, there are
 lots more free reads at  Tuesday's Tales

21 October 2013

Charlene A. Wilson's Transofrmations of Anna

Thank you for having me on your blog.   
The Transformation of Anna

For centuries, Cole Shilo has harvested the homeless, wiped their memories, and delivered them as servants to the nobles of Cornerstone Deep. When Cole is sent to harvest a second-class woman who has broken curfew, he expects no different. But Anna Sinclair’s soul calls out to him. Soul mates aren’t possible on Cornerstone Deep…

Are they?

“My life is a mirage of endless time. But you engulf me, rivet my mind, encompass my soul."

 Buy links:     
Amazon                         Smashwords 
                Author site (signed paperback) -

What they’re saying:
“The Transformation of Anna is first-rate fantasy, with a healthy dose of romance added in. Wilson has created a plausible, multi-dimensional world complete with gods, mythologies, and engaging characters. The world Wilson has created in The Transformation of Anna is complex, but infinitely and easily accessible to the reader. It's quite an amazing and impressive work with lots of action and adventure, heroic characters, and an elegant and satisfying romance.”—Jack Mangus, Readers’ Favorite

"The Transformation of Anna by Charlene A. Wilson is a beautifully stunning and deeply touching story of the darkest of treachery, the rebirth of lost love, and the discovery of hidden secrets. Being left absolutely breathless and deeply astonished after reading such an extraordinary story is a new experience for me. I am anything but disappointed in this superbly enchanting and endearingly exhilarating tale of deeply true and lasting love. My heart was captured and lost to this spellbinding journey!"—Amber McCallister, The Wonderings of One Person.

Anna weakened beneath Cole’s touch. Her mouth relaxed, face stilled. He rose from the tender moment startled by his actions. They were entirely uncalled for, unexpected, yet he couldn’t deny the pleasure it brought.

He stared at her as she wavered with the effects of empty thought. This girl had indeed sought refuge from her life’s experiences. By her complete surrender, he had no doubt she’d wished for the chance to forget many times—a common occurrence among the homeless. He allowed the spell’s sparkling enchantment to fade. No further need for it with this one. This harvest was complete.

As she opened her eyes, he gazed deeply into them to offer hope and set the desire to take pride in her service. “Your life will find meaning.”

Her gaze wandered amongst them. James, his strong stature evident beneath his cloak, would intimidate many without the effects of the charm. Though distinction trimmed his features, she seemed to be taken by his dimple-kissed cheeks and brushed her own.

Leaning her head a little, she studied Vincent. Smaller in build, he still radiated strength. His deep onyx eyes held his defined brow low. Square jaw set, he looked as if vengeance ruled his core. His untamed locks fell in loose waves past his cheeks. A radiant glow encircled his clenched fists as they clutched his cape.

Cole watched as her gaze returned to him. His lips tightened together as his jaw tensed. She scanned his long hair as if to see how far it fell down his back.

When her gaze met his, he had to touch that angelic face. He raised his hand, but caught himself and straightened to his full height, squaring his shoulders. What was that pull to touch? It was unsettling. He clasped the edge of his cloak and turned.

Leading the way back down the alley, James and Vincent fell into step behind Cole. Anna gasped, then followed.

The litter on the street scurried from their path. Night birds sang from high on their perches, a melody odd in the darkness of the empty streets.

A vagabond sat beside the center fountain. Cole pulled Anna to him and wrapped an arm around her waist. He lifted his cloak with a furl and took on the Smoke of Night before the man could catch their approach.

Giggles and thrills flew through his senses as the young woman’s emotions reacted to the disembodiment. He smiled to himself. Most accompanied him with calm acceptance. This girl seemed to embrace the experience.

As they reached the wide steps to the Grand Marshal’s estate, Cole pulled at their elements to solidify. Anna held to him, her arms wrapped around his neck. Her warm breath puffed against his ear as he grabbed her waist so she wouldn’t fall. Was she holding me the whole time?

He eased her down his chest until her toes touched the ground and arms left his shoulders. Running his palm down his shirt to regain his dignity, he strode past the border hedge onto the grounds. He glanced over his shoulder and she drew her hands to her bosom, innocence echoing from her heart.

Luminescent bobbles peaked from beneath bulbous shrubs, lighting the footpath with a radiant glow. Cole looked at the frontage of the imposing mansion. Three stories of white brick stretched out on both sides of a montage of stained glass that arched around the receiving hall doors. He’d never appreciated the over-indulgence of this Grand Marshal, known for his eccentric views and tastes. He seemed more eager to flaunt his position than most.

As they neared the gaudy threshold, he reached ahead and knocked twice with a heavy drive. The left panel opened and a lanky man peered out. His basset hound visage immediately woke at their presence.

“Good evening, sirs.” The servant quickly stepped back and opened the door wide. “I’ll fetch the sire.”


Anna’s gaze bore into Cole at the word. Heat flushed his cheeks and he stepped inside before his brothers noticed.

A screen of sparkling crystals adorned the left wall, neighbored by onyx pillars. To the right, a rash of brass hair lines cascaded the pane between two doors like a million squirming worms looking to invade the upper rooms. Sculptures of oversized silver swans stood at each side of the wide staircases, reflecting the multitude of embedded lights in the domed ceiling. Black veins in the white marble floor continued up the divided staircases leading to the enormous stained-glass window at the center of the back wall.

The sire’s deep voice rang from the left wing hallway. Cole straightened as he neared.

“Sir Cole. It’s good to see the three of you here.” His gaze gravitated to Anna and a wash of satisfaction covered his face. “The addition, I see.”

“As per your bid, she will comply completely. The harvest was a solid take.” He looked back at the lawmaker. “I see she pleases you.”

Dressen smiled and withdrew an envelope from his vest. “Oh, yes.”

Holding up his hand, Cole shook his head. “I believe the fee is double for this one. Your requirements were very specific. Far beyond that of a Grand Marshal’s standard order. So much so, a special spell was created to ensure satisfaction.”

The sire chuckled and his smile tilted as he pocketed the payment. “Very well. I’ll have the funds delivered in the morn. The Wizards of Shilo Manor continue to exceed their reputation. You are true Reapers.”

The nickname wedged in Cole’s gut. It screamed mockery to their position as Sentinels in this realm. Noblemen had always known they could manipulate the elements purely by their nature and advanced heritage. Yet this generation insisted on labeling them as a demon child at play. Reapers. Wizards. It knotted his stomach.

Intent on making the visit as short as possible, Cole turned his attention to Anna. “Lord Dressen is now your keeper.”

Her regard shifted from him to the Grand Marshal and with it the adoration that had poured from her.

To Cole’s surprise, he regretted the release to Dressen’s care. Countless subjects had been harvested for service to the lords. The assignment of a keeper was an essential step. Why, then, would one more be any different? He reminded himself they had just completed another task, fully satisfying the order.

Dressen waved away the hound-faced servant and dismissed them himself. “Thank you, Sir Cole. It’s rare to find such dedication to quality. You have never failed to produce astounding results.” He grasped the handle and his gray eyes sparkled. “I must admit, I find your natures very compelling. Meridian must be an amazing dimension.”

Underlying meaning seeped through Cole and he straightened to temper a scowl. “Thank you, Lord Dressen. We’re pleased you find our work satisfactory.”

Dressen shook his head. “Silent on the matter as ever.” He chuckled. “Well, do watch for an invitation to my forthcoming celebration. I would be honored to have you present.”

“Of course.” Cole turned and crossed the threshold to avoid further remark. As the door closed behind them, Vincent’s chiseled features contorted into rage.

Cole furled his cloak and took on the Smoke of Night before a confrontation could erupt. The last thing he needed was the runt’s temperamental tantrums.

Vincent billowed like the crest of a storm as they flew over the dark city. His brothers’ emotions melded to his; James’ concern and confusion, and Vincent’s pure fury. Small jets of lightning darted through their mass and Cole knew it was directed solely on him.


Charlene A. Wilson is an author of tales that take you to other dimensions. She weaves magic, lasting love, and intrigue to immerse you into the lives of her characters.

She began writing in her early teens when her vivid dreams stayed with her long after she had them. The characters and worlds were so amazing, she brought them to life through her books.

Charlene resides in a small community in Arkansas, USA, with her two beautiful daughters, husband, and a very chatty cockatiel named Todder.

Author Links
Author site:                   Author Bog:                  Facebook:

Twitter:                           Goodreads:                      LinkedIn: 
  For media interviews, visit CharleneAWilson.com 

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15 October 2013

Picture Promt ~ Tuesday's Tales

Welcome to

Once again, many thanks to all those who drop by each week. I also appreciate, and often act upon comments and suggestions left.  Many thanks.

This week's snippet is from my paranormal WIP ~ He's My Husky

“I noticed some woods at the edge of town. Do you ever walk in there?”

“I used to with the dogs, not so much lately.” Emma reached out, hesitated then chose a chocolate chip cookie and began to nibble, keeping her eyes on him all the time.

Was the minx trying to seduce him? It wouldn’t work. Not yet, anyway. 

“Would you walk through them with me tomorrow?” He held her gaze and waited. When she remained silent, he continued. “Is it a popular place for walkers?”

“In the summer it is. Now? Not so much as the days are getting shorter and tomorrow…” her eyes twinkled with mischief. “Tomorrow the weathermen predicts heavy rain in this area.”

“A little rain has never put me off.” His voice earnest now, Max shifted on the settee; followed her action but choose a cupcake. Not that he was hungry but it gave him something to hold and hopefully hide his shaking hands. “We need to talk, but before we do, there are things you need to know.”

“We can do that here.”

True, he thought, but for what he wanted to show her the wide open space or even the confined space of woods would be preferable to possibly freaking her out in her own home. He shook his head.

“It’ll be better if we take this away from your home, so that if things don’t work out, there’ll be no association with me if you don’t like the outcome of our talk.”

“You’re scaring me, Max.”
 How could he blame her for feeling scared when he was facing the biggest challenge of his life and everything would rest on the outcome? “There’s nothing to be afraid of, I promise you,” he said, and hoped it would be the last lie he ever told her.

Thank you for reading this week's offering, there are
 lots more free reads at  Tuesday's Tales

9 October 2013

Author Karen King interviews Morgan Taylor

Perfect Summer
Cover Blurb
Growing up in a society so obsessed with perfection that the government gives people grants for plastic surgery, 15-year-old Morgan can't help being a bit envious of her best friend Summer. Summer is beautiful and rich, her father is a top plastic surgeon and her mother is a beauty consultant with a celebrity client list. Her life seems so effortlessly perfect. Whereas Morgan isn't so rich or beautiful and her little brother, Josh, has Down's syndrome - which, according to the Ministry and society in general, is a crime. Then Josh is kidnapped and the authorities aren't interested so Morgan and Summer decide to investigate. They, along with another teenager, Jamie, whose sister, Holly, has also been kidnapped, uncover a sinister plot involving the kidnapping of disabled children and find themselves in terrible danger. Can they find Josh and Holly before it's too late?

Character Interview
Perfect Summer is set in the future a little, twenty to thirty years from now. The heroine of Perfect Summer is 15 year old Morgan Taylor. Let’s find out a bit more about her.

Q: Everyone is pretty much obsessed with how they look and striving to be as beautiful as they can. How did you feel about that?
Morgan: I never really thought about it, it’s just the way it was. I was actually looking forward to being 16 so I could have some PP (Physical Perfection) surgery.

Q: Your family was put under a lot of pressure when Josh was born. How did that make you feel? Did you ever wish your parents would put him in care?
Morgan: I loved Josh as soon as I saw him, we all did. But I’m really ashamed to admit that I resented him sometimes. I got bullied a lot at school because of him, and that was really hard. But no, I never wanted to send him away. I really love him.

Q: Having a rich, cool friend like Summer must be really hard for you. Did you ever resent her?
Morgan: Yes, lots! I couldn’t help it, she had everything – looks, money, cool parents – the lot! Or so I thought. She was a fantastic friend though, and was always there for me. I felt really sorry for her how everything turned out.

Q: How did you feel when you discovered how many disabled children had been kidnapped and why?
Morgan: Sick. Angry. And desperate to save my little brother. 

Q: You, Summer and Jamie risked your lives to find Josh. Especially you and Jamie. Were you ever scared?
Morgan: Terrified! But what could I do? I had to find Josh and the LEF weren’t bothering.

Q: Talking about Jamie, do you fancy him?
Morgan: You bet. He’s really cool. I thought he was a bit geeky at first but he risked everything for us. He’s fantastic. 

Q: Do you think your terrible experience has changed you?
Morgan: Definitely. I’ll never be so obsessed with how I look again. There’s more important things in life. And I’m tougher too, stronger inside. I was lucky. I’ve looked death in the face and survived. Others didn’t.

Buy Links

Astraea Press   Amazon    Waterstones    Barnes and Noble

Author blurb:
Karen King has had over one hundred children’s books published. She’s written for many children's magazines too including Sindy, Barbie, Winnie the Pooh and Thomas the Tank Engine. She writes for all ages and in all genres; story books, picture books, plays, joke books and non-fiction. Perfect Summer is her first YA. It was runner up in the Red Telephone books YA Novel 2011 competition.

8 October 2013

Christie Corbett shares....

 Hi Christi,
I’m delighted to have you as a guest on The Heart of Romance.

I’d like to give a big thank you to The Heart of Romance for allowing me to host their blog. I truly appreciate them sharing their readers with me today!
                 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Why writing? Why not nursing/teaching? Artist/nurse or whatever?

I had a career in the television (I wrote commercials and a weekly, local show for a CBS affiliate in Minnesota) but when I became pregnant with our twins I chose to leave my television career to raise them. Being an author allows me the best of both worlds; I work while they’re in school and after they’re asleep, and get to be there when they get off the bus until they go to bed.

What persuaded you to write in your chosen genre?

The idea for Along the Way Home came to me while on a cross-country road trip. Allow me to set the scene:
My fiancé (now husband) and I were travelling from Green Bay, Wisconsin to Marysville, Washington.
We’re driving my 1992 Hyundai Excel (compact car) and the backseat and hatchback are loaded to the windows with all my worldly possessions. As an extra bonus, my husband is 6 feet 4 inches tall. Plus it’s February, and since the middle of winter in the Midwest is brutally cold we’re sporting layers of long underwear, flannel shirts, and puffy coats.
We decided to take our time and stopped off at a number of landmarks, including Mt. Rushmore, the Badlands, and Wall Drug.
By the time we reached the Montana border my hubby was ready to rip out the front seat and drive from the back one and I was beyond bored. Around mid-Montana I started whining about how long it was taking, how there was nothing to do but sit, and how the scenery never changed.
Mid-complaint it hit me—we were travelling in one hour what would take nearly three days to accomplish in the 1800’s. (Recall we’d just come from Wall Drug in South Dakota so I think “the old times” were fresh on my mind.)
I whipped out my notebook and the ideas just started flowing. Soon I had pages and pages of notes and ideas about a possible book.
Here’s the actual first line that started it all: A fantastic idea just occurred to me in light of the journey I have just taken… 
And from that moment, a story was born.

Do you base your characters on friends, family or acquaintances, and if so, do you tell them or do they recognised themselves in your books?

My lips are forever sealed on this question :-)

If you were a car, what model would it be?

1969 Chevy Chevelle. Fast, clean lines, and the engine has a low rumble that is beautiful to hear. (My brother is a mechanic so I grew up around cars in all stages of creation/demolition). My son happened to wander in the room as I was answering this question, and he wants to answer it too…he would pick to be a Red and Black Firebird, because, “It’s fast.”

If you were a flower, which one would you chose?

I would pick daisy, because it is simple, yet very useful. (Recall the popular game, “Love Me. Love Me Not”) My daughter happened to wander in the room as I was answering this question and she wants to answer it too…she would be a Pink Rose because, “My favourite color is Pink and roses are pretty.”)

What is your favourite colour and why?

Green. I think perhaps because I like to go for walks in the woods and trees are green? I like brown for the same reason, but green just a bit more.

I gather you have moved many times, so… what is/was your favourite place to live and why?

I really enjoyed the time I spent living in Minnesota. The Midwest is a wonderful place to live and raise a family, and the only reason we left was so my husband and I could be closer to our families. We still keep in touch with many of the friends we met while we lived there, and hope to get back soon for a vacation so we can show our twins everything we loved about living there.

Is there any place you have not been, that you would like to live?

I’ve lived in Washington, Oregon, Montana, Wisconsin, and Minnesota, so I’d be open to trying the East Coast or Deep South to see what life is like down there.

Tea or coffee?       Coffee.

Summer or winter?      Winter.

Autumn (fall) or spring?     Fall. It’s my favorite season of the year so right now I’m very happy!

City or countryside?      I love both equally, so I’d have to say that it depends on what activity is going on.

What is/was the best piece of writing advice you’ve received?

Revisions are going to take as long as they are going to take. Don’t rush to get them done because you’ll just end up going back over them. Really take your time and be meticulous in getting absolutely everything right, or you’ll end up regretting it.

What advice would you pass on to an aspiring writer?

 Never ever EVER give up. On your path to publication you’re going to hear horrific things about your writing and your storylines, you’re going to get rejection after rejection and then a bunch more, but if you keep going in the face of those criticisms and continually strive to learn all you can about the craft of writing, and you NEVER QUIT, you will succeed. Because all it takes is one person to say yes.

I had over 50 rejections on the day I queried Astraea Press. I got many more after I signed the contract (publishing is slow and agent response times are even slower), I got two rejections the week before it released, one more on release day, and then yet another on the very day I hit Number One on Amazon’s Top 100 list for Hot New Releases in Westerns. 

Imagine if I had taken all those rejections as a sign I shouldn’t be a writer and gave up!

What is your writing goal for 2014?

Write another book :-)
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

Along the Way Home is a “sweet” historical romance set on the 1843 Oregon Trail.  It is available in ebook formats now at the following locations.
(Print available on Amazon)

Barnes and Noble:

Astraea Press (my publisher):


 Along the Way Home Back Cover Copy:
Kate Davis is intrigued when her father reveals his dream of starting a horse ranch in Oregon Territory. Settlers out west value a strong woman, and though she manages the financials of her father’s mercantile her competence earns her ridicule, not respect, from Virginia’s elite society.

Jake Fitzpatrick, an experienced trail guide, wants land out west to raise cattle and crops. But dreams require money and he’s eating dandelion greens for dinner. So when a wealthy businessman offers double wages to guide his family across the Oregon Trail, Jake accepts with one stipulation—he is in complete control.

Departure day finds Kate clinging to her possessions as Jake demands she abandon all he deems frivolous, including her deceased mother’s heirlooms. Jake stands firm, refusing to let the whims of a headstrong woman jeopardize the wages he so desperately needs—even a beautiful one with fiery green eyes and a temper to match. 

Trail life is a battle of wills between them until tragedy strikes, leaving Jake with an honor-bound promise to protect her from harm and Kate with a monumental choice—go back to everything she’s ever known or toward everything she’s ever wanted?

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
About Christi

I’m addicted to coffee, sticky notes, and the Oxford Comma. I live in a small town in Oregon with my husband and our twins. Our home’s location was especially inspiring as I wrote Along the Way Home because the view from the back door is a hill travelers looked upon years ago as they explored the Oregon Territory and beyond.

Social Media Links:
When I’m not writing I love chatting with readers and writers alike. You can find me in one of the following locations:


Blog: http://christicorbett.wordpress.com

Twitter: @ChristiCorbett

Facebook: Christi Corbett—Author

Tuesday Tales prompt ~ Evergreen

Welcome to
Once again, many thanks to all those who drop by each week. I also appreciate, and often act upon comments and suggestions left.  Thanks again.
This week our word prompt is Evergreen, and since I love Barbara Streisand's version of the song I have used it to create this 'one-off' short story.

Unlike Barbara Streisand’s song Ellie didn’t consider there was anything evergreen about love. To her it nearer resembled an off-piste ski-run for a non-skier, than an easy chair. As for the rose, well that got buried somewhere under an avalanche.

There was a time when she believed love was shared between the two of them, but Rick… Well he thought love, or rather lust, for the moron didn’t know the meaning of love, should be shared with as many people as possible, sex immaterial. 

Thankfully, she’d found out in time. Now, she remembered, as she stared at the date on the calendar, she’d been so happy when she'd written ‘wedding day’ in big capital letters against today's date, and smothered the rest of the month with big smiley faces.
Today she wanted to take sharp knife and rip the page to pieces.

Instead of walking down the isle to the man she dreamed would be her life’s partner, sharing each morning’s glory and the midnight sun together she’d be spending the day completing the task of returning wedding gifts.

The rat had even tried to take her own home off her, but she’d scotched that, promising to sue him for a lot more than the house if he went down that road. Time, for them, had certainly changed the meaning of everything.

When the peel of her bell jolted her out of her dismal thoughts she hurried to the front door.

The man wore blue overalls over a pristine white shirt, and a smile that challenged the mid-summer sun. “Come for a collection of parcels,” he said, waving a clipboard in front of her face. “You celebrating Christmas early?”

Her answering smile slipped off her face. She swore she could feel it as her facial muscles tightened. “No,” she snapped. “Returning redundant wedding gifts.” She stepped back and indicated the open door. “I still have a couple more to wrap, can you wait?”

Understanding replaced the courier’s smile. “That’s a tough job. Do you need any help?”

She didn’t quite know how it came about that they repacked of the last few gifts together before he stood, stepped back and surveyed the neat stack of boxes against the wall near the door. “I’ll start loading these up,” he said, and picking up two boxes from one pile he sniffed the air. “Is that coffee I can smell?”

She laughed. On her cancelled wedding day, she actually laughed, a light hearted laugh, full of promise.

“It is, and I’ll have a mug ready for you when you’ve dealt with those.” She indicated the pile of wedding gifts and sighed. 

A new beginning, she thought. When the boxes were out of her home, she could start again. Instead of revelling in a pity-party she should be thanking her lucky stars she’d realised in time that Rick’s love hadn’t been evergreen. 

But it didn’t mean the right man for her wasn’t still out there. That perhaps… time wouldn't change the meaning of one love and that it could still be ageless and ever evergreen for her... one day…

Thank you for reading this week's offering, you'll find more great reads at  Tuesday's Tales