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I do not want his scrutiny now, with the cool blade of the dagger pressing against my thigh. On the nearest dance path, a woman laughs as a fat prince covers her ears and throat with wet kisses. I feign interest as he spins her across the path, through the starlight that pours into the atrium. Unbidden, I picture our last dance together, on a night so similar and so different.

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Read “The Fairy Gaol” by Heather Fawcett, in Issue #66

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Heather Fawcett lives in Vancouver, where she works as a technical writer, editor, literary critic and freelance fiction and nonfiction writer. On an average day you could find her writing about archaeology, marketing strategies, fairies, and airplanes, though usually not all at once. This is her first published story.

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