Kashina, Anna (ed) - Once Upon a Curse / Кашина, Анна (ред) - Былые заклятья [2012, EPUB, ENG]

A Necklace of Rubies short fiction by Cindy Lynn Speer Come Lady Death / Милости просим, леди Смерть! short story by Peter S. Beagle Summer Wind short story by Nancy Kress Stronger Than Time novelette by Patricia C. Wrede Words Like Pale Stones novelette by Nancy Kress Every Word I Speak short fiction by Cindy Lynn Speer Remains short fiction by Siobhan Carroll Frayed Tapestry short fiction by Imogen Howson The Cold Blackness Between short story by Lucy A. Snyder Solstice Maiden short fiction by Anna Kashina But Can You Let Him Go? short fiction by Cindy Lynn Speer

This all happened in England a long time ago, when that George who spoke English with a heavy German accent and hated his sons was King. At that time there lived in London a lady who had nothing to do but give parties. Her name was Flora, Lady Neville, and she was a widow and very old. She lived in a great house not far from Buckingham Palace, and she had so many servants that she could not possibly remember all their names; indeed, there were some she had never even seen. She had more food than she could eat, more gowns than she could ever wear; she had wine in her cellars that no one would drink in her lifetime, and her private vaults were filled with great works of art that she did not know she owned. She spent the last years of her life giving parties and balls to which the greatest lords of England—and sometimes the King himself—came, and she was known as the wisest and wittiest woman in all London. But in time her own parties began to bore her, and though she invited the most famous people in the land and hired the greatest jugglers and acrobats and dancers and magicians to entertain them, still she found her parties duller and duller. Listening to court gossip, which she had always loved, made her yawn. The most marvelous music, the most exciting feats of magic put her to sleep. Watching a beautiful young couple dance by her made her feel sad, and she hated to feel sad. . . .