Cherry Blossom: Inklet, #16

By Amy Laurens

Ambrose sits alone in utter darkness, in a house nobody wanted, on a rug nobody loved, about to reach the pinnacle of all his dreams and hopes and plans. 

What a pity it requires his death first.

Let's just hope the prize makes the price worthwhile. 

A wistful, melancholic reminder of the importance of love.  

3100 words / dark fantasy

• Language: English
• Publisher: Inkprint Press
• Release date: Aug 15, 2019
• ISBN: 9781540100986

Amy Laurens

AMY LAURENS is an Australian author of fantasy fiction for all ages. Her story Bones Of The Sea, about creepy carnivorous mist and bone curses, won the 2021 Aurealis Award for Best Fantasy Novella. Amy has also written the award-winning portal-fantasy Sanctuary series about Edge, a 13-year-old girl forced to move to a small country town because of witness protection (the first book is Where Shadows Rise), the humorous fantasy Kaditeos series, following newly graduated Evil Overlord Mercury as she attempts to acquire a castle, the young adult series Storm Foxes, about love and magic and family in small town Australia, and a whole host of non-fiction, both for writers AND for people who don’t live with constant voices in their heads. Other interesting details? Let’s see. Amy lives with her husband and two kids in suburban Canberra. She used to be a high-school English teacher, and she was once chewed on by a lion. (The two are unrelated. It was her right thumb.) Amy loves chocolate but her body despises it; she has a vegetable garden that mostly thrives on neglect; and owns enough books to be considered a library. Of course. Oh, and she also makes rather fancy cakes in her spare time. She’s on all the usual social media channels as @ByAmyLaurens, but you’ve got the best chance of actually getting a response on Instagram or the contact form on her website. <3

Book preview

Cherry Blossom

Ambrose sits alone in utter darkness, no one but fear for company as he prepares for the culmination of his ambitions. It’s been years since he felt fear; it’s been years since he felt anything. That was one of the demands of the quest: let nothing distract him from his single-mindedness, not love, not hatred, not regret, not fear. So in a way, it’s nice to feel again, even if it does set his teeth on edge and send his pulse racing.

There’s no reason for the fear, of course. He knows the potion will work. Years of research and millions   of dollars have ensured that. But the moisture that should coat his tongue and throat still slicks his palms and forehead instead. Ambrose scrubs his hands on his bare thighs; his grip must be firm, sure. The timing of this experiment is so crucial to its success;    the merest half-millisecond hesitation caused by a slip of the knife would be disastrous—and he doesn’t want to die.

Which is entirely the point, really. He sits here, naked and alone, in the dark of night in a house nobody wanted on a rug nobody loved, because he is about to reach the pinnacle of his ambitions, and finally, at last, escape the clutches of death forever.

Shame he has to die to do it.

Ambrose takes a deep