Fantasy Stories For Kids Novels & Stories

"Oh, everything! The children going to Narnia and the battles and Edmund being bad but then being sorry and being good. But I liked Lucy best. She's not pretty but she's so brave." He listens to the stream of enthusiastic chatter.... "In that case, try this one next. It is about the same children returning to Narnia.... 'The Silver Chair'.…" She all but snatches the book from his hand. "So, you enjoy the tales of magic and fantasy? What other books of that sort have you read?" "The ones by Scheherazade...." "Ah yes, the 'Teller of the Tales', 'The Thousand and One Nights." It does indeed contain some excellent stories. But not all, um.… suitable for young ladies. I suspect you have read a ve

The children's giggles filled the air as they made silly faces at each other making their parents smile at their cute antics as well. Afterward, they gathered around the children's crib for storytelling. Adyant settled onto the bed beside Veda, their shoulders touching but neither of them pulled away. The twins snuggled up against each other, eyes shining with excitement. "Tell us about the magical kingdom, Papa!" Vedansh exclaimed. Adyant's deep voice wove a tale of a brave king, fire-breathing dragons, and enchanted forests. Veda listened, captivated by the way he focused so seriously while telling the fantasy story to their babies.

"There are vampires. There are wolves. There are fairies, bear shifters, witches, and many others. But the greatest amongst them all are the dragons." I'd heard tales from my friends about tales their parents told them on camp trips, so to me, this was something to brag about. Also, anything was better than staring into the night while trying not to starve to death. The first few nights, I listened to the stories with wide-eyed wonder, pelting her with many questions. Honestly, I was fascinated. We were merely humans. Like most people, a small family of three. Although I was the only child, I grew up knowing so much love and care, I had no idea what loneliness was.

“Make it a good one.” “Oh, I shall!” it chittered, and with a flourish, it conjured a new narrative pocket in our world. This one wasn't tiny. It was a full-scale, shimmering mirage that overlay a corner of the garden. It depicted a classic, sweeping fantasy epic—knights, dragons, a quest for a glowing mcguffin. But something was off. The knight kept tripping over his own cloak. The dragon was afraid of heights. The glowing mcguffin was just a very persuasive lightbulb.

Every story has a beginning, some good, some bad, mine has never been a happy one, no matter who, or how I tell it, nobody will believe me. I can't rely on the people in my life, My parents ignore me, or are cruel to me, my friends are unreliable, and aren't trustworthy either. So what happens when I turn 16 years old, and run away from my problems to another world, only to find myself in the same magical world I played make belief in as a kid? With heartbreak at every turn, and a possible new relationship on the horizon, what could possibly go wrong in this world that hasn't happened to me on Earth?!

The watch ticked steadily, and this time, its sound felt like a soft applause for his freedom. Dante began to type again. “Once upon a time, there was a dragon who kidnapped a prince so the prince would forget how to fly. But the dragon forgot that the prince’s wings were not grown in a tower—they were born in the stories his father whispered to him before sleep…”

He was grossly outnumbered and the odds were in the favor of Nikjin and his army. She wondered what had become of her father; of Monah, the head warrior, of Seisa, and the other servants. How many werewolves have already lost their lives in this cursed place? How many more would have to die before this nightmare was over? Tears ran down her muzzle from her closed eyes. A silly thought occurred to her that nearly made her giggle out loud. If she’d known that she was coming to an era of civil war, she should have probably gone to bed with the dream stone and her father’s hunting rifle that was stashed in their attic back in Fairbanks. That would have surely tipped this fight in the werewolves'

With a gentle smile, Mitchell began reading a tale of enchantment and adventure from one of her favorite story books. "Once upon a time, in the enchanting land of a Faraway kingdom, there lived a curious little fairy named Sophia. With sparkling wings that shined like the stars in the night sky, Sophia had a special gift; she could make flowers bloom with a mere touch and bring joy to all living creatures.

Most of the pages in the front were smudged too terribly to read anything but once it became legible, I started to shake with happiness. It was a story book! Eagerly I began reading the first story that wasn't destroyed. MY mouth dropped open in wonder at this finding. It was a shadow elf storybook, and a very old one. Page after page I flipped through the words absorbing every word that I could. The stories were full of ghastly creatures similar to the ghoulcat and the heroes of ancient Gwathendor who fought them. And their lady loves that they saved along the way. Soon enough I was hunched over the bed with the little book in my lap and my head in the clouds.

The summer before eighth grade, Abby and I had been playing pretend fairies outside for the past week, fluttering and skipping in the humidity of the woods. I liked the idea of fantastical things — fairies, dragons, wizards, vampires, and the rest of them — but Abby seemed to believe it. She came to me with love spells, and we performed them with our whole hearts. She smeared us with red clay so we would live forever, and when she told me not to go into the woods alone because of preying beasts, she didn't stammer or flinch.