Nyx Kain is a writer with roots deep in both the Canadian prairies and a fascination with the power of belief. From velveteen rabbits to ghost stories that give more life to their subjects with each fascinated retelling, their passion is to celebrate and affirm how the feelings we share through fiction themselves create something new and real – whether that is a friendship with someone fascinated by the same story, a call to action, or something as small and tenacious as a memory that only breathes when a wind in the right season blows across it.
Wearing a chain of dandelions into battle, strewn careless and delicate about the neck. A boast, or a mockery? You won’t dent their armour. You won’t so much as cut…
I had never really believed there was such a thing as diving too deep. There was equipment, and there were people, not suited to do it, but the former was…
“I don’t believe you,” she laughed, in a way that sang from the rim of her wine glass. “What, you don’t think I would?” They had long since emptied theirs,…
Being courted by a god of frost was mostly downsides. The first time she found a surprise blizzard on her doorstep, late in May, she assumed it was just the…
Once he’d finally killed the last of them, he climbed back from the hold up onto the flower-strewn deck. The sea was blooming and roiling to every horizon, and the…
She stopped at the forty-eighth kingdom, above the clouds but still below the stars, when she realized that the forty-seventh was the last place she had felt human. There had…
The first kingdom on the stair was little more than a foothill, green and sparse and drowsy with endless summer. Its residents hadn’t set out with any ambitions, and so…
The first time he saw her, she was standing on a platform at Moonrill Station, waiting to board the afternoon train with three dozen other people. The only reason she…
For someone like Thomas, who had always had a particular horror of death, attending the funeral of someone close to his own age came with a shameful sense of relief.…
The final call for boarding. She had told herself she wouldn’t hesitate. But she’d been imagining the cheery whistle of a steam train, a conductor’s bellow over a bustling platform.…