Fangs and Fairytales
By L.J. Hamlin
The Undead Poet Society
Nerves like she hasn’t felt in half a century or more feel more like bats in her stomach than butterflies as Elizabeth West gets out of her car, ready to go to a poetry reading for the supernatural in a local book shop. Elizabeth smooths out her long brown skirt and brushes invisible dirt off the bodice of her corset before reaching into the car for her walking stick. A length of polished oak with a silver swan head as the handle, it looks as if it could have been made when she was. All she wears does, but none of it is actually from the Victorian era. God, thank steampunkers for bringing back a style of dress she was comfortable with.
Elizabeth takes a calming breath and walks the short distance to the bookstore; she can see
