It's the second Sunday of December—you know what that means... The residual energy of Thursday's full moon is finally ebbing, AND...
THE NEW DESIGN OF THE MONTH IS HERE, GUYS!
So, without further ado...
BAM. AND—
BOOM.
Our Ugly Holiday Sweater design comes finely printed upon an assortment of items, included but not limited to—fuzzy socks, sweaters, tees, backpacks, mugs, and thermoses.
Now, you can flaunt a number of styles emblazoned with our creepy red Christmas trees and signature skull.
Curious stares may follow, folks might stop you on the street in inquirous fashion... To which you should respond with a disarming smile, a wink, and inform them that the Parliament House Press sent you.
Shop this design and others from The Parliament Haus, at these online retailers:
And, we mustn't forget: Chantal Gadoury's ILLUSTRATED special edition of WinterDream is releasing this Tuesday, November 17th!
Here is an excerpt to tide us over:
Prologue
Large, white puffs floated all around me. Sinking into my flesh with their cold, yet light kisses. Every snowflake was different, specially crafted before it fell from the sky. They were beautiful, even as they melted. I tipped my head back to catch the snow as it fell. I felt as though I was floating through air, caught in a haze of ice flakes as sugary and sweet as the icing on the gingerbread house my governess and I had made together.
I stretched my arms out to my sides, spinning in place.
The green forest turned with me, a wood full of large spruces
perfect for Christmas trees. They were decorated as such, lighted with white candles and draped in silver tinsel. On some, icicles hung on the tips of the limbs. It was a world in which the snow was like sugar and the air smelled delicious, like freshly baked cookies. It was perfect—a world of my own making, if I was capable of crafting something so... wonderful.
“Clara...”
The sound of my name trilled from a distance, carried on the
cool, winter wind.
Turning slowly, I peered over my shoulder, catching a glimpse of a young boy my age. He was dressed in a bright red suit, adorned with golden epaulettes. His blond hair was brushed away from his face, revealing two bright blue eyes. His lips, pink as his cheeks, curved into a smile.
“Clara...”
“Yes?” I asked curiously, turning to face him. As I slid my hands over my cream and ivory lace nightgown, I suddenly felt quite foolish. My mama had always insisted I never wear my bedclothes in front of guests or visitors. And yet, here, in this strange and beautiful world, such things hardly seemed to matter. He took my hand and flashed another warm smile as he led me to a large, white carriage.
“Where are we going?” I asked softly, pausing before the door.
The panels were solid ivory, adorned with a golden handle and step.
“Winter Dream,” the boy said with a relieved expression. “Home.
Home to Winter Dream.”
“Winter Dream?”
“I’ve come to take you back, Clara. To where I am—to where all
the people who love you live.”
“But I don’t know where this Winter Dream is. I’ve never been
there...”
“Come with me,” he beckoned, squeezing my hand gently.
“Come. . .”
The snow fell all around us; small flakes clung to the tips of our hair and eyelashes. As much as I longed to go . . . there was something holding me back. Something. . .
As I peered behind me, a small, dark shadow began to form. It started out small, like the size of a mouse, and it grew—or was I shrinking? The boy beside me held my hand, and his eyes grew wide with fear.
“No!” I screamed, tucking myself into his shoulder. Whatever it
was, I didn’t want to see. I didn’t want to know.
“Clara, wait!” I heard him beg, his urgent tone tugging at my
heartstrings. “Come with me, please.”
“No! I want to go home!”
As soon as the words poured from my lips, I woke with a start.
Here, there was only me and the four walls of my bedroom. A sheer sliver of light crept through the space of an open curtain, sparkling with the bright white of the snow outside. It was quiet, as if the world had not yet woken. As if I was the only one no longer dreaming sweet things. Instead, while everyone else slept, I contained the chill of my own strange dream.
I buried myself beneath the duvet and hugged my knees to my chest. I was alone, completely and utterly alone.
I closed my eyes tight, not wishing to face that Christmas morning. I wished only for the chance to slip back into my dream. To return back to that magical world, where a boy with bright blue eyes was waiting for me. Back to the place where an enchanting land called ‘Winter Dream’ existed.