FLORA
There is a reason my heroines are always interrupted mid-sip. The teacup is, as any proper Regency lady will confirm, the most reliable witness to every confession ever made in polite company — and the only one discreet enough to keep it…
I have been asked more than once why my dragons are so small. The answer, I think, is that I believe magic belongs in the ordinary places. A fire-breathing giant in the sky is majestic. A tiny dragon dozing on a stack of letters is love…
Wild roses, letters left unfinished, half-open doors, piano music heard from another room, a gentleman who looks a touch too long across a ballroom, and the word always whispered at least once…
Every setting begins with a single detail. Thorngate began with a gate — iron, rusted, flowering. I did not know who it belonged to or what lay beyond, but I knew that someone very important was waiting on the other side…
A gentle heroine is not a quiet one, nor a soft one. She is, in my hands, a young woman who chooses kindness over cleverness, and whose courage is measured in the small things she refuses to let go of…