Where the Old Things Go
Where do the dragons go when they're done?
Over the hill, past the setting sun.
Where do the witches sleep when they're old?
Somewhere with stars that are not quite cold.
Hush now, hush now, don't ask why—
some of the stars are the same in that sky.
Every bedtime story your child has ever loved is true somewhere.
It began the way most real magic does — at bedtime, with one particular four-year-old, and a witch who was not supposed to be good.
It became a world. Seven kingdoms. Six sovereigns. A thousand years of history pressing toward a single night. Two ways to tell it, and both of them true.
Choose your door.
Morgan is four. Gretchen is her witch. Three books in, and the nightlight has never once gone out.
Step inside →
Six queens. One ancient evil. A door in the dark that may have always been waiting to open.
Glimpse the saga →"I burned down a kingdom once. Took me considerably longer to learn how to make a decent cup of cocoa — and somehow that's the part Morgan actually respects."
New chapters, new kingdoms, and the first word on Book Four — before anyone else hears it.
You're in. The Veil knows your name now.
No spam. Just Vaelmere, when there's something true to tell you.
Somewhere tonight, a witch is standing watch
over a sleeping girl who doesn't know yet
what she is. Yet.