Karina Kantas
is a prolific author of 13 titles. Including the gritty MC thriller series,
OUTLAW and the exciting YA fantasy duology, Illusional Reality. She also writes
short stories and when her imagination is working overtime, she writes
thought-provoking dark flash fiction.
There are many
layers to Karina’s writing style and voice, as you will see in her flash
fiction collection, Heads & Tales and in UNDRESSED she opens up more to her
fans, giving them another glimpse into her warped mind.
When Karina
isn’t busy working on her next bestseller, she’s a publicist, author manager
and VA. She’s also the host of the popular radio show, Author Assist on the
Artist First Radio Network and host of the YouTube show, Behind The Pen.
Karina writes
in the genres of fantasy, MC romance, Young Adult. sci-fi, horror, thrillers
and comedy, romance, PNR, dystopian and erotica.
Author Links:
Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Karina-Kantas/e/B0034P98EW
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/ExplosiveWriter
Facebook duology page: https://www.facebook.com/IllusionalReality
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/226865.Karina_Kantas
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/karinakantasauthor
Twitter: https://twitter.com/KarinaKantas
Blog: https://urbanhype101.wordpress.com/
Newsletter sign up: http://eepurl.com/daKief
This is amazing,” she squealed. Didn’t every girl dream of meeting their
Prince Charming? It was such a vivid, peculiar dream that it was almost
frighteningly real.
A gentle tap on the door got her attention. “Come in.”
A lovely brunette girl entered. She wore a dull-coloured robe with a
grass belt, and her long, brown hair was neatly tied back. A cream silk dress
hung over her arm. The young Tsinian curtsied before approaching Becky. Taking
Becky’s hand, she led her to a stool next to the mirror. She watched carefully
as the girl began to dress her hair.
“You’re very quiet,” Becky said. “You either can’t speak or have been
ordered not to. It doesn’t matter which. So, this place is called Sidinia?”
“Tsinia,” corrected the girl before she quickly covered her mouth.
Becky turned around. “Ah! So, you do speak.” She laughed. “It’s okay; I
won’t tell the old man. What’s your name?”
“Kezar.”
“How old are you, Kezar?”
“Old? I do not comprehend.”
“How many years of age are you?”
“I do not recognise what you mean.” Kezar bent her head, as if she were
ashamed of not being able to understand.
Becky realised she would have to explain herself if she was to make Kezar
cheerful again. “Okay, when you are born, you live one day, which makes you one
day old. When you have lived eight years, you are eight years old. Understand?”
“I believe so,” Kezar replied as she continued dressing Becky’s hair. She
braided the sides and pinned them to the back of Becky’s head while she let the
rest of the hair hang loose. Kezar stood Becky up and began undressing her.
“So,” Becky repeated, “how old are you?”
The girl stopped what she was doing and considered. “I am not acquainted
with this. We do not embrace year or day.”
“Really? That’s so weird. Well, I’d say you look about eighteen.”
“You will not sight many Tsinians younger than I,” Kezar said.
Becky was curious. “Oh, why is that?”
Kezar explained. “When we are born, we are an infant for a short while, a
day, I believe you name it. Then on our second birthday, we become at an age” –
Kezar checked to see she had said the word correctly, and Becky nodded – “at an
age when we are intelligent enough to master the code and arts. Tis a short
while since I first commenced.”
“Are you telling me there are no children here?”
“Tis true. I beg of you; do not convey to Omad that I have conversed with
you. Tis not my place.”
“This is incredible. You know, the worst thing about having a child is
the dirty nappies,” she joked.
Kezar looked at Becky blankly.
“Oh, never mind, you wouldn’t understand.”
“I have concluded,” announced Kezar. “You are prepared.”
Becky stood up and admired herself in the mirror. She certainly looked
like a princess. Her hair was beautifully pinned, and the silk dress reminded
her of a Roman toga. The front hung modestly and tied around her waist was a
gold-coloured rope.
She sighed deeply, wishing she could look this way when she awoke. Men
would fall at her feet. She twirled around, swishing the long skirt from side
to side.
“You are beautiful, Thya. You have the appearance of a true Ganty.”
“What’s a Ganty?”
