Helen Varras' Story Book

The edge of the cliff. A dangerous place to be, she knew that, was born here.    But an indefinable feeling that made her body tremble, dro...

   “Made of Ash tree”. The voice of my creator was soft, more like a whisper. His beautiful Irish accent   mentioning my name – Ashplant ...

Winter. The flames of the fire in the large hearth worked magical shadows on the furs in front of it and on the rich Goblin's that cover...