Kitri-du-Lac

Prologue 'Then what is it?' 'It's just that she is so very... young, sir.' Andrew struggled for words. 'She is a pretty girl. They grow up into beautiful women.' 'You would hardly want her Royal Highness marrying a man she's met once at the age of fourteen.' 'Captain!' James' voice had a lash that made all men hold their tongue. The monarch observed the young man in front of him, letting the silence stand. He flinched involuntarily as his eyes fell on the healing wound cutting through the soldier's right eyebrow, falling down the bridge of his nose and lightly touching his cheek. It spoiled what could have been considered a handsome face

I was first introduced to these forgotten fairy tales at the University of Glasgow. Indeed, these tales, known in academic circles as the Breton Lays, are receiving more attention in recent works in the fields of medieval language and literature. I believe this is most likely because of the advanced technology allowing easier access to the manuscripts containing the verses, and various institutional programmes dedicated to this cause. Perhaps it is simply that scholars of medieval language and literature are sick to death of Chaucer, Mallory, and their more commonly studied contempories. Whatever the reason, the work done by previous scholar

"It's a classic, just as Professor Winchester says, and it meets his definition of a classic – something that everybody wants to have read and nobody wants to read." - Mark Twain, The Disappearance of Literature Tucking the star shaped tip of the bag in against bright pink paper, Katy slowly spiralled inwards so the sponge was completely covered. She finished with a flourish and stepped back to admire her work. The bright white icing reminded her of a whippy cone; there was probably more icing than Mary Berry would have liked, but wasn't that the point? Satisfied, she sprinkled edible silver glitter across the finished batch, before qu

It happened that on midsummer day, when the sun was streaming down from cloudless skies and all the birds rejoiced for the beauty of the season, that Sir Esforcer took his leave of King Arthur, citing a need for adventure. This was most willingly granted, and the brave Knight rode from the castle as the sun began its journey back to the horizon. Taking the main road west, Sir Esforcer admired the villages and farms he came through and graciously thanked the adoring populace for all their offerings of refreshment and rest. He declined the latter, however, telling all that he was determined to seek out adventure in the distant lands. As the c

and who should come knocking at the solid oak door but the Knave, who ignored slowly disassembles, brick by brick, a town built for my insomnia. There goes the tall man with oil slicked hair and fearsome teeth which shine in the moonlight that streams through the new holes in a roof. Not white but ivory, yellow stained and dripping, sharp and sinking into flesh. A man of sorts who has nothing to fear but the Knave who steals his mete away and leaves fangs to fade into dust to cover the Wife of Bath. And walking by goes the Princess, once shy and now a mother who married the brother, or a simple homemaker kneading dough fo