S Hafreth

A Touch of Frost S Hafreth

That night I dreamed. I was in my white nightgown, my hair streaming in a thick cascade down my back. I was standing on my window ledge looking around at the quiet, moonlit nightscape. There was a serene beauty kissing the gossamer moon threads that speckled every snowclad object in its path. As I stood on the top of my bedroom window ledge, two stories high, looking out at the still night, a soft wind caressed my face, and strangely it didn't feel cold or uncomfortable. I felt I could fly and take on the world - my world - and bravely lifted a foot and stretched it out in the empty silvery air, when I felt a presence beside me, hovering just beside my window. That was when I woke up and realized I was screaming. A remote village, a thirsty longing, a bloodcurdling secret... What is the mystery behind the friend that shuns her, the mother who refuses to delve into the past and the powerful dreams that rake her soul? Twelve year old Yasmine is hiding something and it is tearing her apart