Once, there was a girl who lived in a house at the edge of the forest.

Well, it was really an old dead-end street with some trees, but it looked forest-y and in the summer the dusk sparkled with fireflies. And she wasn’t a girl anymore; she’d given up that title earlier than she should have, many years before. But she loved that house because it glowed with childlike wonder and it was her sanctuary from the storm.

Her home had a doormat that said, “Love Grows Here,” which was true, but it was also filled with dirty dishes in the sink, giggles about a dog who eats cat poop, dragons and sword fights, and memories from a life very messily lived.

Her family grew and the house changed, but most of the time she still believed in magic. When she couldn’t find any, she made her own by hanging up twinkle lights and dancing in the kitchen to old records. And writing.

Marisa Miner has a B.A. in both Comparative Literature and French. She has a background in technical writing and video game story design (but also teaching, personal and group fitness, photography, and the life sciences industry because life is too interesting to only do one thing).