Hugh J. O'Donnell

The young witch sits down in her living room and sets to work. There is a candle-topped skull on an end table and a stack of tomes are piled on the floor. The space is otherwise modern and comfortable.
She is a thoroughly modern witch who crafts her spells in a text editor instead of a cauldron. The rules are the same. She just uses new tools.
She pauses when her laptop screen shuts itself, and an unseen yet fuzzy presence makes itself known in her lap.
Another immutable rule of witchcraft is that the cat will always cause trouble.

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The little packet boat moved through the old canal at a slow and steady pace. Walls of cyclopean stone blocks hemmed in both sides, and leaning towers loomed above them, as though giants watching their progress.
The ruined waterway was still traversable, but it was filled with hidden dangers and old ghosts. The three-man crew kept their wits about them and eyes sharp for fallen blocks in the water and ambushes on the levee.
As they emerged back onto a wider stretch of river they muttered a prayer of thanks to the forgotten builders and set their sail for home.

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Something went wrong with the summoning. The dragon felt the call of magic pull it through dimensions, then the spell snapped, and it emerged into a gale.
The dragon struggled to stay aloft in the howling wind and freezing rain but fell towards a strange city.
Inside the bakery, Indigo heard a thump. They looked up to see a little dragon pressed against the window.
They brought the dragon inside to dry off. Unsure of what it ate, Indigo grabbed a handful of sultanas and offered them to the creature.
To the little dragon’s eyes, the fruit sparkled like gold.

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The goddess of music sat on her throne and listened. To an uninformed observer, she might have seemed a prisoner, lashed to her chair with pegs and strings of all different materials and thicknesses. But nothing could be farther from the truth.
Each string led to the heart of a bard wandering the wider world, spreading her songs, and bringing her power.
She listened as each one reverberated in a different frequency, the whole array perfectly tuned and harmonious.
The goddess did not need to travel. Her mortal servants made music, but she was music. And they were her instruments.

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