Something Old, Something New: A DS Artistic Experiment

 Cabinet des Fées, Demeter's Spicebox, Issue Three (July 2013)  Comments Off on Something Old, Something New: A DS Artistic Experiment
Jul 292013
 
Something Old, Something New: A DS Artistic Experiment

Demeter’s Spicebox was always meant to be an interstitial project, a marriage between digital media and storytelling. We’ve had daydreams from the onset about comics, pictures and even short movies related to these stories. We’ve also received more than one email from artists asking if they could contribute art. So finally, we decided that it

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Wolf, Musing by Donna Quattrone

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Jul 012006
 
Wolf, Musing by Donna Quattrone

Wasn’t it thoughtful Of your mama To make such a pretty Red cap. I can see you strolling Through meadow and trees; Down path well trodden, You come singing, Knowing I await you. We start off the same way; “Once upon a time,” And then, after few moments of polite chit-chat, Off I dash to

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 Posted by at 2:06 am

Gingerbread and Time by Amanda Downum

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Jul 012006
 
Gingerbread and Time by Amanda Downum

Snow piles in bone-drifts outside the door, but it's warm beside my oven. I'm alone in the cottage now. My brother left not long after our stepmother died. Foolish boy—he'd never have found wolfsbane in his tea, but he couldn't trust me. He was little more than sticks bound with skin and rag; I wonder

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 Posted by at 2:03 am

The Sending by Darja Malcolm-Clarke

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Jul 012006
 
The Sending by Darja Malcolm-Clarke

When the birds came, we novices fed them bread from the last night's meal. The sunlight shone on the gloss of their purple wings as they feasted and filled the courtyard with their cries. Afterwards, they shat copiously upon the temple stairway, and I and the other youngest novices were made to scrub it off

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Swan Daughter by J.C. Runolfson

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Jul 012006
 
Swan Daughter by J.C. Runolfson

It was the storks who told me my mother’s kin she flew from the southern land of endless sun to this place for her father’s sake she stopped to rest on the marsh and that’s when it happened. Her sisters stole her wings and flew away a child’s game they were all children she would

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Jul 012006
 
Frog Prince? by Donna Quattrone

Once upon a time, The old stories spoke Of throwing the frog, (Ingratiating helpmate That he was), Splat! against the wall. Not nice, that. Somewhere along the line, The tale was changed To kissing instead. Please. Slimy and wet With webbed fingers, Rubbery lips and “ribbit” ? I'm not entirely sure I'd Call that better

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 Posted by at 1:55 am

Dame Ragnelle Takes a Husband by JoSelle Vanderhooft

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May 012006
 
Dame Ragnelle Takes a Husband by JoSelle Vanderhooft

My doughty knight with rosebud-snapping lips has taken me, his scoliotic hag-bride, into his petaled bed. As cold bells proclaim our union against the stiff-lipped ramparts he has removed my veil, smiled, like one drinking bitter beer. Yet, with care befitting such a gentleman, he has stoppered his flood-spreading gorge, leaned over me, and kissed

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The Story of the River and Ophelia by JoSelle Vanderhooft

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Jul 012005
 
The Story of the River and Ophelia by JoSelle Vanderhooft

The kid and I, we had us an arrangement from the day her boyfriend took off his socks and babbled on about handsaws and hawks. I didn’t know her too well then, I must confess. Being a stream tends to limit interpersonal interaction and inter-intelligent attraction. It’s mainly just “glub glub” and sometimes “splash!” when

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 Posted by at 1:51 am

Then a millstone came along… by Mike Allen

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Jul 012005
 
Then a millstone came along... by Mike Allen

So all the stories were true. Nathan stood trembling in the foyer, heart pounding a crazy tom-tom beat, staring at the space above his front door, where a millstone hung. Nothing supported it. No shelf, no chains, no bolts. It stayed flush to the wall out of sheer willpower, a white disk of rock thick

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 Posted by at 1:48 am

Hansel by Christine Butterworth-McDermott

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Jul 012005
 
Hansel by Christine Butterworth-McDermott

I wake longing for candy. The taste of crusty sugar on my tongue seems, for an instant, to be an easy pleasure, but nothing’s guiltless. I can tell no one, not even my wife, why when she turns on the light, I double-over, nauseous, into the bucket besides the bed. She wouldn’t believe the truth

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 Posted by at 1:43 am

Riding Hood by Cassandra Phillips-Sears

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Jul 012005
 
Riding Hood by Cassandra Phillips-Sears

Wolves can’t give safety, which I chose. Of their options, though one’s quick, none bore. Cassandra Phillips-Sears lives in Cambridge, Massachusetts; she has a plum pudding mold and knows how to use it. Her fiction will appear in a future issue of the magazine Jabberwocky. Image © Jennifer Behymer Jennifer Behymer has been a mural

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 Posted by at 1:41 am

The Maiden-Tree by Catherynne M. Valente

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Jul 012005
 
The Maiden-Tree by Catherynne M. Valente

It is remarkable how like a syringe a spindle can be. That explains the attraction, of course. A certain kind of sixteen-year-old girl just cannot say no to this sort of thing, and I was just that measure of girl, the one who looks down on the star-caught point of a midnight needle, sticking awkwardly

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 Posted by at 1:04 am

Scorned by Mia Nutick

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Jul 012005
 
Scorned by Mia Nutick

I. The Invitation I am beautiful. I am tall and willowy, with the almond eyes of my people set like topazes in my flawless, heart shaped face. My skin is smooth and creamy with the faintest flush of peaches along my cheeks. My hair is the color of autumn leaves. My lips curve like Cupid’s

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The Piscine Gifts by Stace Dumoski

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Jul 012005
 
The Piscine Gifts by Stace Dumoski

Hear and Listen! O, most gracious and exalted sovereign, honored visitors from lands afar, ennobled company all. Hear and listen, I again beseech you, for I have returned most recently from a journey to the distant east, to the shores of Itl where the people live not upon the land as you and I, but

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 Posted by at 12:45 am

Demeter & Persephone: 1969 by Virginia M. Mohlere

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Jul 012005
 
Demeter & Persephone: 1969 by Virginia M. Mohlere

The child dangles grey in the doctor's hand. No movement, no cry. It comes to this. Seven months she has waited, telling secret stories to the little fish swimming in her ocean, staring at night over the mound of her own flesh and whispering, “I'm waiting,” feeling that momentary answering caress within. She built for

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 Posted by at 12:38 am