(A Dysfunctional Family of Witches Prequel)

 Dark Fantasy

 Date Published: October 1, 2019

Publisher: Spellbound Books

 

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The illegitimate granddaughter of Catherine the Great finds a shapeshifting
stone and discovers the magic to be young and live forever. Years later,
Dima’s teenage daughter resents a mother who is 112 years old but shifts
into a woman young enough to be her sister.  Medea loathes a mother who
loves her 17 cats more than she does her daughter. Medea despises a mother
who claims all witchcraft as her magic and treats her daughter like a slave.
In secret, Medea develops her own sorcery.

 


UNDYING WITCH
A Dysfunctional Family of Witches
Prequel
By B. Austin

Excerpt

Ninety-eight-year-old Dima clutched the rock, spinning like a young woman. She would die remembering herself dancing in St. Petersburg Square.

She closed her eyes, clenching the volcanic rock, feeling the stone shudder beneath her touch.

She saw herself once more, with lush hair brushing her ankles. On a warm day, she would dance naked in the allies, her hair covering her breasts like Lady Godiva. She would twirl, slapping the men’s faces with her golden locks and driving them wild. “Those were the good days.”

Dima would die singing. She sang out loud the song Those Were the Days composed by Boris Fomin. The song was about remembered youth and romantic ideals.

She was getting dizzy and feared falling. She did not want to die in pain with broken bones.

Dima stopped spinning. What the…? How could thisbe?

Are these my hands, smooth and young with no wrinkles?

Her legs were smooth, shapely, and tall.

Her back was straight and her breasts…ooh-la-la, could she attract the men with these twin firm beauties!

There was no sagging under her arms.

She shoved her hands under her buttocks and squeezed. Her Butt was hard as a rock.

She patted a hand under her chin which was no longer almost touching her chest but was firm.

Dima ran out of the House of the Tragic Poet with the volcanic rock, no make that shape-shifting rock, clutched in her hand. The ruins were especially eerie because the site closed at five o-clock. All the tourists were gone.


 About the Author

B. Austin grew up in the Land of Enchantment, New Mexico. She was told true tales of witches by her superstitious family. Before writing full time, she toiled in tech as a software engineer. She currently lives in Florida. She, also, writes under the name of Belinda Austin.

 

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