Winter Song Book Novels & Stories

He dusted the book, which made him cough with discomfort. Alvin too came and stood beside Alpine to take a look at the book. The book is old and the words are a little faded. But the book is heavy. Alvin took the book from his brother and slowly opened it. 'Fairy fire' The words floated in the air as soon as he opened the book. "What do you seek from me winter king?" A voice floated in the air around them. The voice is as monotonous as the silent water. "Who are you?" Alvin asked.

I've lost everyone because I pushed them away. The tears are flowing as the words wash over me, but it's a good cry. It's a healing cry, that acts as a balm for the soul. My hips are swaying to the music and despite the emotion choking me, I'm quietly singing along. “Please come home for Christmas... Please come home for Christmas... If not for Christmas, by New Year's night...”

*Winter* I sat on the edge of the small cliff overlooking the river, the water glistening below like a thousand flickering stars embedded in a silken sheet. As the sun began its descent toward the horizon, the air grew cooler, and whispers from the stream intertwined with the breeze, wrapping around me like a familiar melody. They were no longer mere sounds; they were voices. "Winter," they seemed to call, "do not fear the shadows." If only I could believe them.

The shop owner, a kind-looking elderly man, adjusted his reading glasses and helped her compare colors. “This imported lace would work well for repairing a wedding dress.” He nudged his glasses up his nose Wendy’s fingertips traced the delicate patterns when she suddenly heard hurried footsteps behind her. “Wendy!” She turned around to see Austin jogging toward her with a stack of books in his arms. He stopped in front of her, slightly out of breath. “I asked a friend to bring the bridal design references you wanted over.” She took the books from him. It was the latest issue of International Wedding Gown Design and several professional manuals.

“Zayn MacQuoid, you can’t be this selfish! I’m working hard right now. I can’t have kids!” I compromised to quell her anger. I valued her career, but she resigned so that she could take care of Charles and Caleb better. Besides, she used the money I had saved for retirement for Caleb’s wedding. My leg hurt terribly during that winter, but I was too poor to see a doctor. Moreover, the temperature at home was freezing. It made me shiver. I tried calling Layla for money, but she hung up on me repeatedly. I could not hold on since I was old. In the end, I froze to death.

A crescent moon nestled in faintly clouded glass, with three tiny snowflake crystals dangling from the edge like frozen stars. She reached out, fingers hovering just above it, heart tightening. WinterMoon. Her home. Or… the home she left behind. The sound of the crowd softened behind her. The music faded. That charm—that moment—was WinterMoon. The night skies. The quiet hush of snowfall on the hills. The scent of pine and frost and something wild. It was the silence of the woods and the hum of belonging. Her throat tightened. The warmth she’d felt only moments ago didn’t vanish—but it dimmed. The edges of it curled in on themselves. She didn’t touch the charm. She didn’t have to. Just lookin

Ronan was at a karaoke bar named Nocturne, singing a love song to her. Their friends flooded the comments. "Just get together already!" "Forget women. Bros are better. Say you’ll be my new sister-in-law!" "Totally! Brynn’s way better than his wife. At least she doesn’t kill the mood by doing something stupid like throwing cake." She replied with a smirking emoji: "You idiots, stop talking nonsense. Ronan is only fit to be my obedient son for life, got it?" My hands trembled as I exited the group.

The flare paints the sky a violent, angry red and the storm replies like a beast offended. Snow lunges at us in sheets and knives and the world narrows to wind and white. I put my face into the storm and all the noise narrows to one impossible sound: his voice in the air, and Aunt Ruby’s curse that follows it. He does not move like a human. The Winter King stands perfectly still,silver hair flaring, coat snapping like a flag no matter how the wind fights him. He watches me the way people watch a painting they plan to steal.

The first true winter storm arrived with a roar, hurling rain against the windows and turning the Tidewater Trail into a wind-lashed no-man's land. Inside, the world felt small, safe, and deeply ours. A fire crackled in the hearth, Hank's painting glowed in its light, and Eleanor's paperweight sat solidly on the desk, holding down the first batch of congratulatory cards for my book.

The Courtesan's story will continue after school break, so expect book 2 soon... For now enjoy this bonus story.... ******* Prologue. Sleigh bells ring and the all too familiar sounds of classic Christmas music pour in through my earbuds as I walked down the snow-crusted sidewalk. Closing my eyes, I hummed along to the tune of “Hark! The Herald Angels Sing With lyrics written by Charles Wesley,.” Sad to say, this is probably as Christmassy as I'm going to get.