Sinister + Spice
a collection of fairytales for the quiet,
the wistful and the strange
About the Bookshop
Sinister + Spice is a concept, an experiment and a small foray into a certain writer's audacity (ahem, Sira Fei). Most importantly, it is a "bookshop of fairytales" that wanders and welcomes, collects and comforts... all in a search for meaning and memory that can endure.The short stories here run the gamut in tone and style: some are gentle, others are sharper or shadowed, and still others unfold slowly, like a rare flower that only blooms under moonlight. If that range excites or intrigues, you are invited to stay and explore at your leisure. All stories have companion audio available for those who prefer to listen.You are also welcome to browse our artifacts, a collection of items whose designs helped inspire many of these tales. Should one call to you, it can be purchased through Etsy.Though the bookshop never stays in one place for long (read Made with Sinister + Spice if you'd like more insight on that), just know it is always here when you need and you have an open invitation to revisit.With the sincerest offerings of peace, warmth and good reading:Sira D. Fei, Curator (real person)
Esme Sinclair Jones, Steward (fictional, but quite diligent)
Apprentice Steward (fictional post - currently open)
The Sinners (our semi-fictional resident book club)
Artifacts are created and fulfilled by This Far by Design, the design studio behind Sinister + Spice
Select a Story
Browse our collection of short stories.
For those who prefer to listen, companion audio is available.
Become a Sinner
The Sinners are the bookshop’s resident, semi-fictional book club. They meet quarterly, but only on evenings that promise rain and a lively atmosphere.Members receive a monthly newsletter from the Steward containing lore, insights, and the latest umbrella styles favored by the shop.Sign up below to receive the newsletter.
leave a note for our curator
The Sinister + Spice bookshop is curated by author Sira Fei. If you'd like to leave her a note or message, you can direct it to [email protected]. The steward will make sure she receives it.
THE STEWARD'S DESK
UNDER CONSTRUCTION - check back later, thanks!
Carmena's Cloak
A young woman discovers the quiet magic of reading
Have you ever seen Carmena or her cloak? It is said no two souls who catch a glimpse see it the same way; that it appears as it must, shaped by the moment and the heart of the one who finds it.
Carmena was a quiet maid, given to listening more than speaking, and thus it was hardly noticed that she learned to read alongside the princess she served. When lessons grew dull, it was Carmena who asked questions - not aloud, but with her eyes - and the princess, amused, learned more for it. In this way they passed their girlhood together: one born to rule, the other content to observe.The maid’s truest happiness, however, lay beyond the palace walls. There was a neighboring forest, peaceful by some accident of nature or neglect of men, where predators never seemed to roam.Carmena stole away there whenever she could. She pressed flowers between the pages of her favorite books to mark her place, napped beneath towering trees, and read in the sunlight as hours slipped quietly past.When the princess was promised to a king in a wealthier kingdom, it was assumed Carmena would follow. She did, though reluctantly. She feared leaving her forest, her books, her small, private joys. Still, she packed her few belongings, among them her mother’s red cloak, the last precious inheritance of a family long gone.The new king was cold, rigid with tradition, and his forests were dark and unwelcoming. There were no quiet paths there, no safe places to linger. Literacy was forbidden to all but the ruling class. Carmena still wove stories in her thoughts and dreams, but time wore her down, as it erodes all things. As the years slipped past, she forgot the peaceful forest and the sunlight, and the only thing that sparked joy was the beautiful red fabric of her mother’s cloak.One particularly harsh winter, the maid grew thin and tired. The Queen, fearing the worst, went to her side and read aloud all the stories Carmena had loved as a girl, for the Queen had never forgotten. Fevers claimed the maid, but as her soul was blanketed in light, all she could hear were the old words gathering around her, comforting her as they once had in her youth.Many say her spirit returned to the peaceful forest, to the old cheerful kingdom, the red cloak warm upon her shoulders. There she waits still, guiding the shy, the thoughtful, and the quietly passionate to sunlit clearings, good books, and sturdy trees beneath which it is always safe to dream.
The Darkest fruit
A king makes a dangerous and irrevocable choice
Have you ever wished away a flaw? A thing or aspect about yourself you consider a weakness, or a liability? This is the story of a rare and tempting apple, an obsessive King and an incredible musician named Ranim.
At the northern edge of the world stands a quiet forest, bereft of birdsong or beasts, it grows thick over the ruins of an old kingdom that once mistook excess for brilliance and cruelty for ingenuity. At the heart of this forest rises a single tree, rooted - it’s said - in the buried throne of a fallen king.Its fruit is flawless: apples so dark red they gleam like jewels dipped in black.If the tree judges a traveler worthy, it grants them one apple, no more. Most who seek its harvest never return.The fruit is consumed in three bites.The first bite frees one from envy, but will leave you an object of pity.
The second strips away all fear, and with it, all good judgment.
The third bite, if taken, passes an unbearable longing to another.A king from the West took all three.He’d fallen desperately in love with a traveling violinist whose beauty and music drew crowds for miles. But she would have none of him. When his longing passed to her, her violin fell silent. There was no longer room for music in her heart; it overflowed now only with passion for the King.The King, both triumphant and reckless, quickly made the musician his wife.But in forcing her desire, he inevitably lost his own. For that was the cost of the third bite: passion, once both sweet and impure, now curdled into disgust. Obsession that had made him feverish and bold…. now cooled into dread.What ultimately ended the King is unclear.Some whisper the Queen’s devotion closed around him one day - severe, jealous and unrelenting - until the force of it left him breathless.When she bent over his grave and coughed up a shard of dark fruit, it shivered once, unfurled velvety black wings, and took flight as a great moth.Clarity returned to her all at once.And with it, the entirety of his kingdom.
Historian’s Note:Queen Ranim I of Western Lyria is a beloved figure of Lyrian history, remembered fondly for ushering in a cultural renaissance that secured Lyria’s prominence on the global map. Far less is said of her ascent to the throne, or of the wooden crown she chose to wear. The queens of Lyria wear it still, and it’s rumored to have been crafted from the remains of an old violin.