Scheherazade by Fallacious Rose

Every night after dinner, Moonflower reads a story to her brother the lion and his wife. She doesn’t understand some of the words – she’s only five after all – but when she stumbles she makes it up. She knows that this is all that keeps him human, this frail literary link. All that keeps him from tearing her apart.
The lions, for their part, listen with an impassive amber gaze. Somewhere within their fierce, simple souls they remember that they were once more, and less, than they are now. They recall a fireside, a woman stirring beans in a pot, an old man muttering over a cradle. A little girl with flowers in her hair, reading, always reading…


I live on a rural property on the south-east coast of NSW, Australia, and write under the pen name Fallacious Rose. I don’t confine myself to any particular genre, but I get a lot of fun out of speculative fiction; to me,’ what if’ are among the most interesting words in the English language. My work includes three collections of short stories, a novel about a murderous mermaid, and a self-help manual for lazy Buddhists.  Have a look at my website


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