There’s something terrifying about release day.
For years, this story lived quietly with me — in messy drafts, late-night notes, and the stubborn voice of a girl who refused to be softened.
Today, she belongs to you.
And there’s a strange moment when a book stops being something you’re shaping and becomes something that exists without you.
Drafts, edits, proofs — all the versions where it still feels like it belongs to you.
And then suddenly, it doesn’t.
When I first imagined Scarlett, I didn’t start with magic.
I started with a question:
What if your mother was fey and your father was a wolf shifter?
What would that make you?
Not fully fey.
Not fully wolf.
Not fully welcome in either world.
And then there was the image I couldn’t shake — a dandelion pushing up through pavement.
Because that’s the heart of this story.
Something that should not have survived… growing anyway.
No softness. No permission. Just life forcing its way through what was meant to hold it down.
Scarlett was never meant to be a pawn.
She was shaped instead by grief, trauma, and a childhood that ended too early.
Magic didn’t save her.
It complicated everything.
It sharpened what was already there — anger, doubt, and a need to survive on her own terms.
Writing her became about more than a girl navigating two worlds.
It became about choice. About agency. About what it means to exist in a life that tries to define you before you even understand yourself.
And survival, for Scarlett, comes down to one moment.
The night she pulled the trigger on the man who raised her.
The world called it murder.
She called it survival.
After that, there is no version of her story that goes quietly.
Juvenile detention should have been the end of it.
A place where everything narrowed down until there was nothing left.
But what came after doesn’t care what she has already endured.
Not when wolves and fae were never meant to mix.
Not when Ash Grayson is still there — the boy who was meant to keep her safe.
Now he watches her like something slipping out of reach, carrying guilt he can’t put down.
But Scarlett doesn’t belong to anyone anymore.
Not the courts.
Not the pack.
Not him.
Because what she’s learned is not how to survive.
It’s how to stay standing when survival is no longer enough.
DANDELIONS is about resilience.
About what grows in places it was never meant to survive.
About what pushes through anyway — through cracks, through pressure, through everything built to keep it down.
I called it Dandelions because that’s what this story is.
Something that refuses to stay gone.
Something that always comes back.
Thank you for being here on release day.
Thank you for stepping back into the Eldritch Universe with me, where wild things are blooming.
