KFrancesca

In the lush forest kingdom of Verdanthe, magic is a crime punishable by death. Pandora, a quiet girl living on the outskirts of the kingdom, is different.

Born with a voice that could weave storms, heal wounds, and hands that could create plant life, Pandora has spent her life in silence, fearing that even a single note or flick of her wrist might expose her. Her father once told her that magic like hers can only end in fire. But when the ruthless king’s hunters arrive in her village, searching for her, she is forced to flee back to her home in the Nyxmaris sea.  

She is one of the last of her kind and the only one who can restore magic to the world. But the more Pandora uncovers about the her origins, the more she realizes that singing might not set her free—it might break the world apart.  

Torn between silence and rebellion, fear and freedom, Pandora must decide: will she keep swallowing the magic inside her, or will she let it finally be heard?  

Perfect for fans of lyrical prose, atmospheric fantasy, and heroines who wield quiet power, The Wild Song She Swallowed is a spellbinding tale of identity, music, and the price of unleashing your true self.

The Wild Song She Swallowed

The silence between us stretches, thick with questions I don't know if I want answered. The market's hum presses against the alley's mouth, life moving on without me, as if I'm not standing here, my world cracking at the edges.

The man studies me like he's waiting for something, for me to run again, for me to ask the right question.

I settle on, "Then start talking."

His lips twitch, not quite a smile. "Not here."

I glance past him, to the market beyond. The lanterns sway in the evening breeze, their light flickering gold against the cobblestones. People move between stalls, haggling, laughing, living. If I walk away now, I could slip into that world again.

But this man whoever he is knows something. About me. About my magic. About the truth he claims I need to hear. And if I leave now, I'll spend the rest of my life wondering.

I exhale through my nose. "Fine. Where?"

His eyes flick to the street, scanning for something someone before nodding toward the far end of the alley. "Follow me."

His gaze meets mine, steady, unreadable. "Then you'll be dead before the next sundown."

A chill slides down my spine, but I force myself to hold his stare. He doesn't look like he's bluffing. And the worst part is, I believe him.

So, against every screaming instinct in my body, I follow.

He leads me through the city with a confidence that makes my stomach twist. The capital is a maze of winding streets and towering stone, and yet he moves like he was born in its veins.

I keep three steps behind him, half-ready to turn and run the moment something feels wrong.

Not when we slip past the palace guards stationed at the main gates. Not when he leads me through the quieter districts, away from the markets and the lanterns and the press of people. Not even when he stops in front of an unremarkable wooden door, barely visible between two crumbling buildings.

He doesn't answer. Just pushes open the door and steps inside.

I linger at the threshold. The air here smells of damp stone and old parchment, and something else I can't name. Not quite magic. But close.

I grit my teeth and step through.

The room is small, candlelit, shelves lining every wall, stuffed with books and scrolls and trinkets I don't recognize. A map sprawls across the only table, its surface marked with inked symbols I don't understand.

I turn to the man, arms crossed. "You dragged me all the way here. Start talking."

He exhales, running a hand through his wavy auburn hair. Then, finally

"My name is Avis Selby. I was born with magic, just like you. And if you want to survive, you need to understand one thing."

He meets my gaze, voice quiet but sharp as a knife.

"Everything you've been told about magic is a lie."

A Lie as Sweet as Sorrow