Heart of Fury: A Skeldirith Novella || ONC ENTRY 2026 Round 1 and 2 qualifier, but sadly, did not finish in time for Round 3. I will continue to write this though! Prompt: You wake up with a strange mark on your skin after a late-night encounter you can barely remember, and its meaning grows more unsettling by the hour. ** change to the prompt - several marks on your skin *Set twenty-five years before Inheritance of Fire* (current WIP). Today, she wakes in chains. Once, she ruled the skies. Betrayed and imprisoned, Drakanya is stripped of a power that once made the world kneel. Bound within a fragile human body and marked with sigils that burn deeper with every passing hour, she is forced to endure the slow unraveling of everything she was. Her soul is shattered. Her fire is fading. And the sea below her prison waits ... endless and patient. What remains is not submissive. What remains is fractured. Devastated. Furious. And fury, when caged, does not wither and die. It endures. And when her cage finally shatters, the world will remember who, and what, she truly is. ********************************************* This story is intended for adult readers only (18+). Heart of Fury: A Skeldirith Novella is a dark fantasy with intense romantic themes and includes violence, gore, explicit language, sexual content, trauma, and psychological tension. ©M. J. Harris. All rights reserved. This is a work of original fiction. No part of this story may be copied, reproduced, reposted, or adapted in any form without the author's express permission.

White. The colour that haunted her entire life. Born into a lineage of warriors and witches, she is the Matriarch's only daughter and her greatest disappointment. In a world forged by blood and conquest, her power does not burn or strike. Instead, she sees what others cannot: colours bleeding through the cracks of reality, a spectrum hidden beneath the violence they worship. They call her weak. They call her useless. But power does not always arrive as a weapon. Sometimes it arrives as perception. Sometimes it arrives as the space between. As ancient traditions close in and the weight of expectation sharpens into a blade, she must choose whether to disappear into the white that defines her-or claim the colours that terrify everyone else. A dark fantasy about inherited violence, quiet rebellion, and the power that exists where no one thinks to look. ---------- Open Novella Contest 2026 Based on prompts: 2. The first flower to bloom in spring isn't just a sign of the season changing. It's a portal. When you touch it, you're transported into a magical world you never knew existed. 11. The daughter of the most powerful witch is nothing like her mother. 16. "And into the forest I go, to lose my mind and find my soul" by John Muir 28. Self-love often starts small, like planting a single seed. With time, patience, and a bit of light, it will blossom. 63. A forgotten temple appears overnight in the middle of town, but its doors will only open for those who tell lies.

Aurora is thirty-three, single, and done. Done with dating apps. Done with men who think sarcasm counts as a personality. Done with being told she should still "believe in fairy tales." But when a man who looks like he walked out of a fantasy novel crashes through her ceiling in full armor and declares her his destined bride... Aurora is really done. Malamier Everhart is not just any prince. He's the Crown Prince of Aelvarad, born under the Moon's First Bloom, on a quest to find the one foretold to break a curse on his kingdom. He speaks like a romance novel, looks like a sin, and insists that she's his prophecy. There's just one problem. Aurora doesn't believe in prophecies. Or curses. Or love at first sight. She believes in oat milk lattes, feminist podcasts, and her very comfortable, man-free life. But as reality fractures and fairy-tale creatures leak into her world, Aurora must choose: keep running from the destiny she never wanted... Or rewrite it on her own terms. A romantic comedy for every woman who ever rolled her eyes at the "fated mate" trope, then secretly fell in love with it anyway.

In a war-torn medieval kingdom, Lady Eveline, an outcast noblewoman, is resurrected in the body of Queen Illya, the cruel and feared monarch who executed her years ago. Illya's rule has been one of terror, manipulation, and control, with dark powers lurking behind her crown. With no memory of how she died or who revived her, Eveline must navigate a court full of betrayals, political schemes, and hidden magic, all while learning to wield the terrible powers Illya had bound to her throne. As Eveline, now trapped in the body of the villainous queen, uncovers more about Illya's past and her pact with ancient, evil spirits, she must decide whether to continue Illya's reign of tyranny or carve a new path. But with every attempt to change the kingdom's fate, Eveline faces opposition from those who profit from Illya's cruelty and the dark powers that hunger for more destruction as she struggles with her identity.

She wakes with missing hours, a burning imprint carved into her shoulder, and no memory of who put it there. Nyxara Blackvein is an assassin who survives by control. Control over her body. Her blades. Her choices. But the mark beneath her skin has a will of its own, pulling her toward Stillreach-a city protected by an impossible shield and a power no one dares to name. Torin Cross was never part of the plan. A half-elf bard with a charming smile and secrets of his own, he's headed in the same direction for reasons that don't quite add up. When violence forces them to fight side by side, trust forms before either of them is ready for it. Whatever waits in Stillreach is already watching. ONC 2026 Prompts used. 32. Two assassins from rival organizations are sent on the same secret mission, only to realize the assignment holds a much bigger truth. 86. A wasteland hides pockets of thriving communities protected by mysterious shields. 99. You wake up with a strange mark on your skin after a late-night encounter you can barely remember, and its meaning grows more unsettling by the hour.