0:08

Welcome to the Nightmare Magazine

0:10

Story Podcast. Enter

0:12

freely and of your own free will. I

0:15

am your humble host, Terrence Taylor, one

0:17

very much at home with the children

0:19

of the night. Stay

0:21

close as my muse, the medieval

0:23

demon Gubla, guides us down into

0:25

beautiful darkness. In

0:28

this episode, listen to our very best

0:30

selves, written by Fatima

0:32

Takvi and narrated by

0:34

Janina Edwards. But first, a

0:36

word from our sponsors. What

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does feminism mean to you? During

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Women's History Month, come explore feminism and

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how it's playing out in real life

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with season two of Thread the Needle,

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a monthly podcast. I'm your host, Donna

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Shill. I'll use my background in journalism

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to dive into topics that matter to

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women today, from divorce to call out

1:00

culture to masculinity to

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girls' confidence. Season two

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of Thread the Needle finds the meeting

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place between feminist ideals and the realities

1:09

of women's lives. Listen to Thread

1:11

the Needle wherever you get your podcasts. Your

1:19

Very Best Cells by Fatima

1:21

Takvi. I

1:25

like car journeys in the passenger seat.

1:28

They give me time to think and

1:31

rethink things beyond the shape of

1:33

my life. I'm

1:35

not allowed to play music, but

1:37

I can in my head. Places

1:40

blur, memories tingle, pitying

1:43

voices from long ago garble in my

1:45

ear on the thickened tongue of regret.

1:49

Manisa, my husband says,

1:52

eyes on the road. Your skin

1:54

is slipping. Clunky

1:57

keys open our heavy front door.

2:00

I used to be able to smell forest pine on

2:02

it. I can't anymore.

2:05

I winced at the mud tracked in from

2:07

outside. I can't bend the

2:09

right way, so it'll take

2:11

ages to clean. My

2:14

knees are... My

2:17

name is a complete sentence when my

2:19

husband says it in that tone. I

2:22

pull up my skin, give my

2:24

shoulders a shake. It doesn't

2:26

really do much, but it looks like I'm

2:28

trying, which is important evidence for

2:31

the rest of my life. I

2:34

set the grocery bags down, and despite

2:36

myself, it happens. My

2:39

left eyeball rolls out of my

2:41

head and plonks onto the

2:43

kitchen table. It falls

2:45

off and stops beside Nadim's muddy

2:48

shoes. I

2:50

watch him out of my remaining eye. Nadim

2:53

doesn't have to say anything. Many

2:56

people know he's a saint. The

2:58

patience he has to have in this marriage,

3:00

this isn't what he signed up for. When

3:04

he's asleep and the furrowed lines

3:06

in his face have finally smoothed out, I

3:09

open my laptop. Tonight,

3:12

I research recipes. He

3:14

deserves an extra special dinner. I

3:18

bend over in a way that avoids using my

3:20

neck. The smooth tips of

3:22

my fingers fly over the keys. I'm

3:25

still getting used to how they feel. One

3:28

good thing is I never have to cut my

3:30

nails anymore because it's all deadstance.

3:33

My eyeballs wobble in their circuits, but

3:35

they won't fall out again tonight. I've

3:38

rammed them all the way in, stuffing

3:40

the gaps with cotton rounds. I

3:43

soaked the cotton and jasmine oil first. It's

3:46

his favorite scent. My

3:48

husband and I are very happy,

3:50

really. Some things are

3:53

tricky. You have to accept them

3:55

because men's idea of romance is so

3:57

different from women's. I heard that

3:59

in a podcast. For example,

4:02

Nadim doesn't hold my hand anymore.

4:05

He says it's because he needs time to

4:08

get used to the toothbumps on my right

4:10

hand. He'd forgotten to

4:12

stop as he was piecing me back together.

4:15

Got distracted. He

4:17

does so much for us. So

4:19

I don't say, how could you do this

4:21

to me? Or if you can focus

4:23

on work, you can focus on these things too.

4:26

Instead, I use the little finger

4:28

on my left hand like a thumb. It

4:31

gets the job done. It's

4:33

been hard for me to accept too. It

4:36

still feels like only yesterday when

4:38

the rose garlands sagged against my

4:40

elaborate bridal clothes. They

4:42

pricked at me with their sequins and raised

4:44

embroidery, but I adored them

4:46

anyway. They proved I was

4:48

a married woman. I

4:51

changed my profile pictures on all my

4:53

socials to me in my red wedding

4:55

dress and heavy gold earrings. Maybe

4:58

that's what went wrong. I

5:00

shouldn't have shown us off to the world. The

5:03

evil eye caught us. By

5:05

mistake, I voiced this once to my

5:07

husband and he snorted, not looking

5:09

away from his phone. What was

5:11

there to give evil eye to? You

5:13

didn't look that good. But

5:16

that's husband for you. Men

5:18

don't understand these things. And

5:20

they have terrible memories. Because I

5:22

remember that's what my husband said

5:24

after the accident when I

5:26

was sobbing into my pillow, asking why this

5:28

had to happen to us. It's

5:32

nobody's fault, Juanita, he'd said.

5:35

It was the evil eye. Somebody

5:37

envied us, and in a

5:39

moment, our lives were changed. He'd

5:42

spoken so softly as he looked down

5:45

at my newly distorted form and put

5:47

such a gleam in his eye. Love,

5:51

a husband's love is what keeps a

5:53

wife safe. It's what

5:56

our elders said, and all the more

5:58

true for me. I would

6:00

literally be dead without him. He

6:02

rescued me from the car crash, and

6:05

now I'm more vulnerable than

6:07

even before. I

6:09

need a protector. I

6:12

find a good recipe for something that needs

6:14

to be slow-cooked. I can

6:16

do another shop tomorrow. Get

6:19

those few special ingredients. I'll

6:21

put on my shapeless outfit and my

6:23

beanie that covers the ragged lobes of my

6:25

ears. A mask. Nobody

6:27

really looks at my hands, and if

6:30

they do, they're quick to look away. My

6:33

husband switches his lamp off, which

6:35

is my signal to do the same. It

6:38

happens as I go to sleep, as

6:41

it does every night. I always

6:43

worry at night wake my husband, but

6:45

it's an interesting thing. Now I'm the only

6:47

one who ever hears it. Tonight

6:50

the voice coming sharp and clear from

6:52

beneath the floorboards is ukos. I

6:55

loved that monkey, but he was only

6:57

a puppet, really. He'd sit

6:59

on a blue couch in his red

7:02

t-shirt, popping up between children's cartoons some

7:04

decade and a half ago. He'd

7:06

conduct quizzes and announce birthdays.

7:09

That's right. You're doing very

7:11

well. Ugonel says through

7:13

the floor at me. Well

7:15

done. I ignore

7:17

him. Every inch of

7:19

me is watchful of my husband, whose

7:21

snoring form gives no sign that he can

7:23

hear it. You know

7:25

all the answers. You are very

7:28

smart. My

7:30

left eyeball slips out as I fall

7:32

asleep, and I find it in the

7:34

morning, rolled all the way to a

7:36

corner of the room, facing downward,

7:39

unblinkingly. I'm

7:42

shorter since the crash. I

7:45

think my husband misplaced a vertebra or two,

7:47

so my clothes don't fit

7:49

well anymore. It's not a big

7:51

deal. This means everything kind of

7:53

scrapes the floor as I walk. I

7:56

do my shopping, feed the ducks. They're

7:58

not old ducks, I think. found out. There

8:01

are coots and more hens, too." I

8:03

told Nadine, but he didn't care. Men don't

8:07

really like animals, I think. At

8:10

night I ask him what he thinks of the dinner.

8:12

He likes it. The meat could be softer,

8:14

though, he says. I pull a

8:16

part of peace in front of him. Soft

8:19

like butter. He's been

8:21

slow cooking all day, I explain. I

8:24

should have thought before doing that, but

8:26

it's not easy to focus when I'm tired. I've

8:29

been keeping myself from falling to pieces for

8:31

so long. He presses his

8:33

lips together and gets all quiet, and

8:36

in the end, he says, he has to

8:39

go out to finish some work, and he'll

8:41

be back late. Before

8:43

I sleep, I google sex

8:45

tips in bed. Ugo

8:47

doesn't appear, which is good because I need

8:49

a break. Nostalgia makes

8:52

me uneasy, but

8:54

it's only temporary because soon I hear

8:56

the voice of that nice lady who used

8:59

to read story books aloud in that children's

9:01

TV show back in the 90s. She

9:03

had strawberry jam lipstick, elegantly

9:06

positioned frizzy hair, and

9:08

a striped cardigan that slipped easily up

9:10

her slender arms. I

9:13

can't see her, but I can in

9:15

a weird way as her voice

9:17

floats up through the room's floor. But

9:20

Billy didn't like the swamp monster,

9:22

she says. Billy didn't like it at

9:24

all. lingerie

9:27

won't work anymore, I decide.

9:30

It never had, looking back. I

9:33

order some cleansers and moisturizers, and

9:36

I get out of bed to try on a different travel.

9:39

I think it could work. I

9:41

don't blow dry my hair because it falls

9:43

out in clumps. Instead, I

9:46

add more glue to my scalp and

9:48

arrange my hair as best I

9:50

can. It'll dry overnight if I'm lucky.

9:53

Won't you be friends with me? Ask

9:56

the silly swamp monster. I know

9:58

lots of games. What

10:02

if I could be stitched back better?

10:05

I've never considered this before. My

10:08

husband's family were the best tailors in

10:10

their village going back. They

10:12

still move around in fabric commerce and are

10:14

a big thing in retail, whatever

10:17

that means. I've never asked.

10:20

You don't have room to ask because

10:22

they were always talking about themselves and

10:24

how elite they are. But

10:27

how hard can sewing be? After

10:30

a bit of googling, quite hard, it

10:32

turns out, especially with hands

10:34

like mine. I'd

10:36

forgotten to charge my laptop and

10:39

I'd run out the battery listening to

10:41

podcasts on attachment styles as I'd done

10:43

the washing up and vacuuming. There's

10:46

a lot of information out there about

10:48

trauma and why you love the people you

10:50

do. It's all so

10:52

different from what I saw growing up. I'm

10:55

not sure I fully understand all of it, but

10:58

I can't stop reading and learning about it

11:00

all the same. The screen

11:02

goes blank and I cringe away

11:04

from my own eyes reflected back at me.

11:07

One is just about to fall out again. I

11:10

push it gently back in and try

11:12

not to swear. It's

11:15

important to love oneself, even at

11:17

your lowest, even if no one

11:19

else does. I don't really

11:21

want to go downstairs to get the charger.

11:24

I know what waits for my attention alone

11:27

in the dark. On

11:29

the other hand, I'm not going to sleep

11:31

anytime soon. I have too much

11:33

on my mind. The last video

11:35

I saw was about how to stitch pom-poms.

11:39

It got me thinking. So

11:42

I go downstairs. I don't

11:44

really need the light, but it

11:46

always hurts my skin being in the dark,

11:48

so I switch them all on as I

11:50

go. I know it won't

11:52

save me from what waits. It

11:55

can reach me, even if I'm surrounded

11:57

by people or listening to a hundred

11:59

conversations. It's usually

12:01

after midnight, the voice is loudest,

12:04

through that unused cabinet downstairs that

12:06

I never open. If

12:09

you go out in the woods today, you'd better

12:11

go in disguise. If you go

12:13

out in the woods today, you'd never believe your

12:15

eyes. Just an

12:17

earworm, voiceless, but leaving

12:20

an imprint of words like a stamp, forcing

12:23

itself onto my tongue, so I

12:25

mutter along despite myself. I

12:28

think that's what I hate about the voice the most, the

12:31

pull it has on me. I

12:33

wonder what it feels about the fact I hate it.

12:36

I wonder if it will ever decide to stop

12:38

talking to me. Before

12:40

I go running back upstairs with a

12:42

charger, I force myself to slow down

12:45

enough to dig out the family sewing

12:47

kit. The head

12:49

of the biggest needle watches me from

12:51

the round pincushion like a wide open

12:53

pupil. I can't suppress

12:55

the shutter. These needles

12:57

know me in ways other people

12:59

never will. They've been

13:02

inside and outside my skin, connecting

13:05

my muscles together, looping

13:07

strong thread through my joints so I

13:09

don't fall away. I

13:11

take them all upstairs. I'm

13:14

tired, and there's so much to absorb.

13:17

It doesn't matter. I'm high

13:19

on anticipation. I

13:21

pull up pages on sewing. Human

13:23

anatomy. Ocular muscles.

13:26

By dawn, I've fainted. I

13:29

have laced my left eyeball to the back

13:32

of its orbit. I jump up

13:34

and down. I wave back and forth.

13:36

It stays firmly in. I

13:39

feel myself warm in pride. And

13:41

I can do even more. I just

13:44

need time. I look

13:46

in the mirror. My left

13:48

eye is absolutely beautiful. I

13:51

take in the scars across my face, my

13:54

arms, my back. Susher

13:56

together, but leaving lines running through me.

13:59

Cracks. I

14:01

wonder if the needles can help me get rid of them.

14:05

Next morning I whizz excitedly through my

14:07

chores. Nadine is soft,

14:09

he's giving, but I'm too distracted

14:11

to ask for forgiveness. He goes

14:14

to work by noon. After

14:16

he leaves, I put cotchill on my

14:18

eyes for the first time since everything.

14:21

The skin around my eye is soft. I

14:24

still have to use eye drops, but

14:26

from just looking at my eyes you can't

14:29

really tell I'm different from anyone else. Then

14:32

I sit and read and make notes.

14:35

I dig out all the wall mirrors that used to

14:37

hang around the house. I put them

14:39

all away. Now I

14:41

take them to my room, put them under the

14:44

bed. I pause. What

14:47

if tonight he wants to sleep in

14:49

our room? But no,

14:51

I think. I know he won't.

14:54

He was a little extra nice this morning. I

14:57

know that means I'll be getting a

14:59

text saying he'll be working late tonight.

15:02

So sorry, don't make extra chapatis. I'll

15:04

sleep downstairs. It's not to wake you.

15:08

Evening, and I've set everything

15:10

up. I start on my

15:13

extra thumb, detach it. Quickly,

15:15

quickly, try not to look right at it. Put

15:18

gauze on the bit that's bleeding. Do

15:21

I feel pain? I wonder. Maybe.

15:24

How would I know? I've been so

15:26

busy studying what other people want of me.

15:28

I can't remember how to begin being myself.

15:32

It's not very late at night, but

15:34

the voice starts again. I

15:36

hardly pay attention to it. I'm

15:38

sewing the thumb back where it belongs on my other

15:40

hand. I've arranged the mirrors

15:42

around me on my bed so I can see the

15:44

work from every angle. Finally,

15:47

I sit back and raise my

15:49

hand up. It

15:51

looks really good. Like

15:54

when I stitched my eye back into

15:56

place, my success excites me. and

16:00

out of sewing motion was like being

16:02

on a little boat, bobbing its way

16:04

to a new and incredible future, a

16:07

new incredible me. Then

16:09

I hear it properly. I've

16:11

been kind of moving with the beat of the voice

16:13

without realizing it. And now that

16:15

I pay attention, it's the first bit

16:17

of we like to party. By

16:19

the space girls. Not the

16:22

course, just I've got something

16:24

to tell you. I've got news for

16:26

you over and over. Then

16:29

when I sit back, I

16:32

feel the first stab of pain. I

16:34

mean real pain at the root

16:36

of the thumb as I try to move it. The

16:39

music stops. A new voice

16:41

rises from the floorboards. This

16:43

isn't really my fault. The

16:45

shaking voice says, Natine,

16:49

I don't ever remember him ever saying

16:52

anything like that. And

16:54

it's not like him at all. So

16:56

scared and feeble. This

16:59

isn't really my fault. This

17:01

isn't really my fault. Pause.

17:05

Hello? I look up

17:07

despite myself. The floorboards

17:09

are bright. I've used

17:11

so many lights and mirrors for my sewing

17:13

project. My room looks like a stage with

17:15

spotlights and misdirections. The

17:18

floor looks back at me, full

17:20

of anticipation, as if I'm about

17:22

to put on a performance. Hello?

17:26

A gulping sound. Manisa.

17:29

I lie down and roll over. Sometimes

17:32

the voices are confusing. I

17:35

focus on my breathing. Maybe

17:38

I go to sleep. I

17:40

wake up to new voices. I

17:43

want to finish my master's degree. I'm

17:46

at home all the time anyway. Might

17:48

as well do a degree online. A

17:50

good wife gives herself to her home, to

17:53

her husband, who will do everything.

17:57

I will, if I can do

17:59

all of it. Why won't you let me? In

18:02

fact, actually, I don't even need

18:04

your permission. I can do it

18:06

myself." I snort, how? I'll

18:10

figure it out, not if I don't want you

18:12

to. And he?

18:16

He. It's

18:18

a good thing I've put the scissors away and

18:21

that I've done my last stitch, because

18:23

the world turns to black and

18:26

I pass out. Last

18:29

morning, my head is full

18:31

of scrambled-up white noise. I'm

18:34

a little slower. Nadine

18:36

had arrived late last night and

18:38

had fallen asleep downstairs without noticing

18:40

anything. Something

18:42

makes me hide my hands from him as

18:44

he kisses me and leaves. I

18:47

go to the unused cabinet, take

18:49

out the glass jar, stare

18:51

at it. It's

18:54

so quiet now as I hold it. The

18:57

problem really was that

18:59

I hadn't been truly honest. My

19:02

husband had often complained about how

19:04

I'd fallen to pieces at any

19:06

inconvenience, how I over-relyed on

19:08

him to do things. So

19:10

when part of my brain fell out, I

19:13

didn't want to tell him. I

19:15

felt so ashamed. In the

19:17

end, I'd just put it in a

19:19

glass jar and into that cabinet and tried not

19:21

to think about it. But

19:23

now things are different. Now

19:26

that I'm on the ultimate self-improvement project

19:28

ever, I'm not going to neglect it

19:30

anymore. Pity, I

19:33

read about brains. They're very

19:35

good at hiding things from us, being

19:37

on our side but working against

19:40

us, splitting us into

19:42

conflicting sack bills, dreaming big

19:44

but scaring us into staying

19:46

comfortable, admiring the brave

19:49

but committing the mundane. It

19:52

might, I concede. It

19:54

might know what's best, but

19:57

I'm more than the bits that make up my brain,

19:59

me. The whole of

20:01

me is the one who makes the decisions.

20:04

And I suddenly knew something, something

20:07

the voice hadn't told me, something I

20:10

didn't remember before. Nadim

20:12

saying, now you won't be

20:14

going too far, will you? And

20:17

that gleam in his eye that never

20:20

had anything to do with love.

20:25

One night, while my husband is asleep at

20:27

my side, I detach my

20:29

arms, first one, then

20:31

the other. It's not

20:33

hard. Pain sits

20:35

on my tongue, light and tart, like

20:38

a lemon mousse, filling my mouth with

20:40

saliva. My arms

20:42

fall with a soft thud onto the rock.

20:46

They pull themselves forward, fingers and

20:48

thumb, doing all the work. Love

20:51

muscles made by rolling dough to make

20:53

round chapatis are coming in handy. The

20:56

bane grows distant. Purpose

20:58

animates me now. One

21:01

arm carries the other to reach the door handle.

21:04

The one that goes vertical loses the

21:06

gold bangles it usually wears, and

21:08

the circlets lie forlorn on the

21:10

floorboards. Together, my

21:12

two arms shuffle until they get to

21:15

the family's blanket. I'd

21:17

returned it to its original place downstairs. My

21:20

arms drag it back up the stairs to

21:22

me. I'm glad they're so full

21:24

of energy. They have work to do. I

21:28

watch from the bed as they unzip the kit

21:30

and take out the needles, the spools of

21:32

bread, the scissors. He

21:35

won't wake up. I've needed sleeping

21:37

pills at various points in my life. They've

21:40

come in handy tonight. Where

21:42

I come from, we have a

21:44

ritual when a couple gets married. They

21:46

sit together for the first time as a married

21:49

couple, and someone places a

21:51

mirror in front of them. The couple

21:53

looks into this mirror. Two

21:55

people in a single frame. Just

21:58

the two of them. When

22:01

Adin finally

22:03

wakes up, we look

22:06

at my dressing-room mirror together. He

22:09

screams and screams, but I

22:11

have the foresight to tamper with the

22:13

vocal cords, so he sounds very far

22:15

away. I don't want to stitch

22:17

his lips together. I still want to hear

22:19

his voice when he settles. Communication

22:22

is very important in relationships. When

22:25

his sobs subside, I tell him

22:28

through our shared connection that

22:30

if we were truly soulmates, then this is

22:32

what I've always been meant to do. I

22:35

can save him. Some

22:37

wives would wash their hands of husbands like

22:40

him, a man so selfish, cruel,

22:42

misogynistic. But I

22:44

want us to be different. So

22:46

what if, I ask him, what

22:49

if his well-being is literally knitted

22:51

to another human? Looking

22:53

out for himself would mean looking out for two. This

22:56

will be good for his character, I tell him. He'll

22:59

finally learn the greatest thing a person can

23:02

learn to do in this life, how

23:04

to love. And

23:06

yes, I also got distracted in the

23:08

process, so I apologize for him having

23:11

only one eye, which I now

23:13

wear around our shared neck. His

23:15

arms are flattened and stitched around my belly,

23:18

the bones lying on top of my femurs. I

23:21

had to sand them down so they'd fit, but

23:23

I'm sure if we had to extract him and

23:26

build him up again, it could work. His

23:28

mouth and throat are by my sternum, his

23:31

lungs sharing space in my ribcage. It's

23:34

a little cramped in there, but I'm prepared

23:36

to give this marriage a real shite. I'm

23:39

happy to walk the walk. We're

23:41

going to work on this marriage and

23:43

become our very best selves. His

23:47

mind I've scattered around myself in places I can

23:49

keep a table on it. I've

23:51

kept some of the messier pieces nicely in

23:53

a row of jars in the fridge. I

23:56

don't think he needs his heart. He can

23:58

use mine. The first

24:00

step for him to deal with his trauma is

24:03

to learn he's safe. Then

24:05

he must learn he's capable. I

24:08

forgot what the third thing is. Never

24:11

mind. We have lots to read

24:13

and learn together. I

24:15

had a plan for self-care too. It's

24:18

important to invest effort and acts of

24:20

kindness for our future selves. So

24:22

I'd spent some time before doing all

24:24

this, removing parts of my brain and

24:26

stitching them back until I hid the

24:29

exact right cut. I

24:31

used a new kitchen knife and a butcher's block,

24:33

precise cuts of my brain, punctuated by

24:36

me testing out how I feel without

24:38

each tiny bit. Then

24:40

I hid on what I was looking for, the

24:43

part of my brain so eager to talk

24:45

to a whole of me using voices from

24:48

the past, the part that would

24:50

have been so full of recriminations at this path

24:52

we are embarking on. It's

24:54

the toxic part of me, I tell

24:56

Nadine. He moans in

24:58

response, not really paying attention.

25:01

I would have been worried if I damaged

25:03

his cognitive centers, but I have

25:06

access to them. I know he's there. He's

25:08

just a little bit stressed right now. Learning

25:11

takes time. And perhaps, because

25:13

he's never really trusted himself, he can't

25:15

find it in him to trust me

25:17

yet, because I too

25:20

am now perceived as part of

25:22

his untrustworthy self. I'm

25:25

giddy with excitement, I tell him. We

25:27

have so much to do. But

25:29

it's not all about him. I

25:32

need to give myself space away from ideas

25:34

that could hold me back, so

25:36

that little recriminating piece of brain matter

25:38

must go. I put

25:40

it in a little glass jar. We

25:43

go on a car ride. I

25:45

sit in the driver's seat with the combined skills

25:47

of the both of us. I

25:49

also get to play music this time. The

25:52

music helps drown out the alarmed

25:54

medley made up of Ugo, the

25:56

Reading Lady, all the songs and

25:58

TV shows of my childhood. childhood, all in

26:01

course, all urging me to

26:03

reconsider. When I

26:05

slipped the lid open and tilt the small bit

26:07

of flesh into the river, I imagined

26:10

it not sinking or becoming fish

26:12

meat, but instead swimming

26:14

along. Brains can

26:16

be survivors. Brains can

26:19

evolve. I imagine it darting

26:21

here and there like a fish, singing

26:23

to itself with no one to police it. Maybe

26:27

I'd still be able to hear it on its

26:29

travels, but I'm sure with all

26:31

it will have to experience, it won't have

26:33

time for me. It

26:35

would travel the world, my bit

26:37

of wily resilient brain matter, until

26:39

it reached a distant shore.

26:42

And then I say to Nadeem, with just

26:44

a little bit of wistfulness, what

26:47

if another me regenerated all around

26:49

it, fully whole and

26:52

fully free? Welcome

26:57

back. You've been listening to our very

26:59

best selves, by Fatima Tarkvi, narrated

27:02

by Janina Edwards. Wander

27:15

with us into a world of magic. Do

27:18

you lack magic? Ever since

27:20

I was born, I could hear the

27:22

spirits of the other world. Your

27:24

old stories take on a new life. If

27:27

you break even one of these conditions,

27:30

the consequence is death, and

27:32

the world is teeming with

27:34

possibilities. It's me, my girls.

27:37

They're here. They're bringing a change. For

27:40

the last time, we're not kissing.

27:44

Join Jenny and Madeline in this fantastical audio

27:46

trauma as they journey into the stories you

27:48

grew up with as you've never heard them

27:50

before. You are no more than

27:52

a demon. Okay, gown. Let's

27:55

do this. And reinvent fairy

27:57

tales with a feminist twist. for

28:00

your next adventure and we'll

28:02

see you soon in the forest of feminist

28:04

fairy tales. Fatima

28:16

Tawfi is a Pakistani writer living in

28:18

London. She has words appearing

28:21

in Strange Horizons, a magazine

28:23

of fantasy and science fiction, Fusion

28:25

Fragment and Fantasy magazine.

28:29

She can be found at www.fatimatawfi.com.

28:32

Janita Edwards is an award-winning narrator of 400

28:35

bucks. Her work has been

28:37

acknowledged with eight Earphones Awards, an

28:39

Audi-Win, seven Audi-Finalist nominations

28:42

and two Society of Voice

28:44

Arts and Sciences nominations. In

28:47

2021, Janita was included in Libro.fm's

28:49

list for all narrators you should

28:51

be listening to. Nightmare

28:53

Magazine is published by Adam and PrEP. Copyright

28:56

2024. Edited by Wendy N. Wegner

28:59

and this podcast is produced by Skyboat

29:01

Media. Our music was composed

29:04

and performed by Jack Kincaid. Thanks

29:06

for listening. This is Terrence

29:08

Taylor, wishing you all the best from all

29:10

of us at Nightmare Magazine and

29:12

sending you back to your reality. So now.