The Drosselmeier Chronicles: The Solstice Tales by Wolfen M.
Some stories aren't quite as you've previously read them. Uncle Drosselmeier was so much more than a human who tinkered with clockworks, and the Nutcracker was no mere cursed boy. The faeries in the so-called "Land of the Dolls" weren't made of sugarplums, nor were the brownies made of chocolate. Even Marie (aka Clara) turned out to be more than she seemed. And Drosselmeier, Marie, and the nutcracker's adventures didn't exactly end the morning after the battle with the seven-headed Mouse King. Meanwhile, Jacob Marley's dealings with Ebenezer Scrooge, the love of his life, did not actually stop after the announcement of the pending arrival of three Ghosts and a last chance at redemption. For that matter, the Ghosts weren't exactly Spirits at all, but rather three Gaiankind on a mission to save more than one soul that night ....
The Drosselmeier Chronicles is available at:
Excerpt:
When Drosselmeier burst in through the front door, he nearly collided with Marie's sleepy parents, who had just reached the bottom of the stairs. Without stopping to greet them or explain his presence, he ran straight into the drawing room, crying Marie's name.
He found her lying on her side, blood pooling under her head. He didn't move her at first, laying a hand against the back of her neck. When Herr and Frau Stahlbaum caught up a moment later, Margaret screamed out in horror. Even so, stout-hearted and practical woman that she was, she did not faint; instead, she rushed out the door to get the doctor. Marie's father rushed to his fallen child's side, obviously intending to lift her and carry her to her bed, but Drosselmeier denied him, explaining that she had a severe head injury, and that he needed to determine the extent of the injury before he would know if it was safe to move her.
What Drosselmeier didn't tell Stahlbaum was that Marie would most certainly die if he didn't use magic to heal her—which was precisely what he was doing. It bothered him that he would have to leave some of the cut—how could he explain it healing in mere moments?—but at least he could heal the injury to her skull and its precious contents, and get her body to replace the lost blood faster.
He allowed himself a small smile: wasn't this what faery-godfathers were for?
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Author Bio:
Wolfen M worked for Borders Group, Inc. for seven years, as a bookseller. These days, she's a freelance artist, as well as the Assistant Reviews Editor and Co-Art Director for SequentialTart.com, a webzine dedicated to giving woman a voice in the comics industry (and in the larger arena of general entertainment). She considers herself an eclectic pagan with strong Gaian and Secular Humanist leanings. She loves animals and animation, and her hobby, when she's not writing (her first love) or painting portraits (her second), is making websites and cosplay. Her current big claim to fame is the Grootmas tree-topper that went viral. Come see her at wolfenm.com
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