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lgbt+ fantasy, paranormal & contemporary

Ever After print

“For Ever” –  a feel-good book with amazing illustrations.

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If you had asked me a year ago that I would’ve published a book, I wouldn’t have believed you. But look where we are now!

I knew from the beginning what kind of story I wanted to tell. My book was going to be a fantasy story with a cast of diverse characters, without their diversity and sexuality being the main focus.

I’ve learned so much writing For Ever. So much about my own writing process, and what kind of stories I like to tell. And I’ve grown hopelessly attached to all these characters. It’s true what they say: they really do feel like your babies!

CINDY PAUL

/ Author

For Ever

"A girl meets a dragon, a servant fights for her prince, a traveler with a secret finds a home, a soldier disobeys the rules in order to save the kingdom, and a queen journeys north to find out if she’s truly fit to rule."   🏳️‍🌈 an LGBT+ fantasy   Buy the eBook | ADD on goodreads

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Stretching out her arm, legs wrapped around the branch, Saga managed to snatch the red and yellow fruit. She didn’t really care for mangos, but there were dozens of mango trees in the woods.

Nobody would miss the fruit if she only picked a few. More importantly, the King’s men wouldn’t notice her theft.

Changing her grip on the tree’s high branch, Saga let herself swing a few times before dropping down, her boots hitting the forest ground with a soft thud.

Somewhere behind her, a brush rustled.
Saga’s bow was drawn within a second.
It was just a deer, its ears flicking against its head as it watched her curiously.

She wanted so badly to shoot it. Could almost taste the meat in her mouth. They needed more than mangos if they were going to survive, and this deer would be a welcome change.

She closed one eye, and aimed.
Took a deep breath.
But then she remembered the executions at the castle. The King’s new law. There was to be no hunting in the woods. With a sigh, she lowered the bow and watched the deer run away.

Without any money,
and without the right to hunt,
how were she and her grandmother going to survive?

On the day Silas hears he failed another math test,
he meets a boy on the side of the road.

It is pouring outside, and if looking up wouldn’t sting his eyes, Silas would see the sky was grey and dark.

It’s sort of a miracle that he even sees the shape against the side of the wall.
Or maybe not.
Maybe, Silas is so used to looking down,
it would have been impossible for him not to see the white sneakers and the curled-up figure. 

Silas stops.
Stares.
Thinks, what if this is a homeless person so desperate for drugs, they’re going to stab me and sell my organs?
Would that really matter?
Would anyone miss me if I wasn’t here?

In the end, the choice isn’t really Silas’s.
Or maybe it is.
Maybe, because he stopped and looked down,
he gave the other enough time to look up. 

A hand shoots out and grabs Silas’s leg
and Silas thinks, this is it.

“What?” the other asks, and their voice is warm. “It’s—it’s pouring, how can I still smell you?”

And Silas says, “Excuse me?”

The hand on his leg tightens, and their grip is so strong Silas thinks it would be impossible to break. 

The stranger moves to their feet then,
and they’re tall,
and they’re a he,
because his hood falls off and reveals warm brown eyes and a strong jaw.
Silas can see thousands of freckles.

“You smell so good,” the guy says. 

“What the fuck,” Silas says.

It’s Friday night, and there’s a party in the neighbourhood.
With the neighbourhood kids.

Though if they knew Albert called some of them ‘kids’ in his mind, they’d probably throw a fit.

The music is loud, but not absurdly so. The house, however, is weirdly dark. The dim lights give off the impression that they’re going to do improper things, instead of simply playing Just Dance and Mario Kart all night.

Albert looks around.

Everyone from Falcon North is gathered in the Gibson house.

It’s at the edge of the neighbourhood. You’d think it would make more sense for a neighbourhood party to be held in a house in the middle of the area,
but now they can blast the music as loudly as they want.

“Hey, Albert!” Lea Petersen calls out when he walks into the backyard. She’s sitting on one of the lounge chairs, her dark hair in two braids and a red cup in her hand.

“Hey, Petersen,” Albert says, and walks over to her. “How’s it going?”

“Good, good. Just enjoying a night with people who get me, you know.”

Not really.
Albert doesn’t feel like a lot of people get him.
But he guesses he’s not the only seventeen-year-old teenager who thinks that.

“Yeah,” he says. “Nothing lifts the spirits like loud music, alcohol, and rebellious teenagers.”

“Right?”

She knocks their red cups against each other, reminding Albert that he hasn’t drank a lot from his Bacardi Coke.

He takes a sip.
It’s still not very good.

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