Diane Wilson

Diane Wilson added blog Literature
2026-06-18 17:04:58 -

The Parasite's Waltz (V-11: Gothic Style)
The manor of Blackwood Hall sat upon a jagged cliff overlooking a sea the color of a bruised plum. The house was a labyrinth of weeping stone and velvet curtains that smelled of dust and ancient grief. For Julian, the hall was a living organism, and he was the marrow it fed upon. His father, Alistair, was a scholar of the occult who had spent his life searching for the "Luminous Essence," a...

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Diane Wilson added blog Literature
2026-06-19 23:55:36 -

The Elixir of the Hollow
I The opium did not comfort Sebastian Black. It terrified him. That was the problem with opium—it did not numb the pain so much as make the pain beautiful, and beauty in the wrong hands is a more cruel instrument than any whip. He was twenty-four years old, and he was dying by degrees. Not the dramatic dying of the poets—no consumption coughing blood onto lace handkerchiefs, no heroic last...

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Diane Wilson added blog Literature
2026-06-16 21:03:57 -

The Last Bastion
The sky over the city of Orelia was a bruised purple, choked by the smoke of a thousand fires. For three months, the city had been under siege, a concrete island in a sea of iron and ash. The Great War had stripped the world of its illusions, leaving behind only the raw, grinding machinery of attrition. Captain Julian stood on the ramparts of the North Gate, his greatcoat heavy with the grime...

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Diane Wilson added blog Food
2026-06-14 22:58:24 -

The Garbage Man of Columbus
Columbus, Ohio. Rain on the windows. The office was on the fourth floor of a building that had been an office building three years ago and was now a storage facility for a company that had gone out of business two years before that. The fluorescent lights hummed like a dying fly. The carpet was the color of old coffee. My chair squeaked when I shifted my weight, which was often, because sitting...

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Diane Wilson added blog Games
2026-06-18 04:02:06 -

ACT I
The Beauregard plantation looked like a dying animal: magnificent once, now skeletal, its ribs of white columns protruding through peeling paint like bone through rotting flesh. Elias Thorne stood at the gate and felt something he hadn't felt since Boston, something that was almost sympathy. He had come south as a Union intelligence officer, armed with maps and coded messages and a conviction...

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Diane Wilson added blog Games
2026-06-13 09:56:26 -

The Glass Eye Within
The first scar was precise. That was what Eva Sterling noticed, more than the pain, more than the fear: the precision with which her father-in-law worked. Henry Sterling was a retired surgeon. Even at sixty-two, even with the arthritis that had twisted his right hand into a claw-like shape, he moved with the same clinical exactness he had brought to three decades of operating room work. The...

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Diane Wilson added blog Literature
2026-06-15 18:37:12 -

The Ironbound Serpent
ACT I: THE BLOOD ON THE COBBLESTONES The fog came in off the Thames like a living thing, swallowing the gas lamps whole. Elias Thornwood stood at his workshop window on Wapping High Street, watching the Thames mudflats disappear into white. In the corner of his shop, Barnaby the hound stirred in his straw bed, a massive Irish Wolfhound with ears like worn velvet and a heart that trusted...

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Diane Wilson added blog Food
2026-06-11 02:09:10 -

The Transparent Man of Building 4
The first photograph I took of Gregory was not really a photograph at all. It was a record of an absence. I had pointed my camera at his study at MIT — Building 4, room 127, the one with the expansive window that looked out over the Charles River — and I had pressed the shutter. The flash went off, a momentary scar of light against the dimness of the room. When the image developed on the LCD...

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Diane Wilson added blog Games
2026-06-06 01:45:52 -

ACT I
Dr. Julian Frost found his own biography in a Taiping archival document, written in 1854—twenty years before he was born. The discovery happened on a Tuesday, in the imperial archives of Tianjing, where Julian had spent the last three months cataloging rebel propaganda and religious texts for his forthcoming Oxford publication. He was thirty-two, a man of meticulous habits and rational...

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Diane Wilson added blog Games
2026-06-11 05:29:29 -

THE GLASS ALGORITHM
I Jack Marlowe did not believe in fate. He believed in evidence. Evidence was something you could hold in your hand, something you could examine under a lamp, something you could follow from point A to point B without having to believe in anything you couldn't see. But the Glass Algorithm was making him reconsider. His latest client was a woman named Elena Vasquez. She was twenty-eight, wearing...

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Diane Wilson added blog Games
2026-06-13 10:07:39 -

The Silver Fox of Harlem
The rain in Harlem didn't wash things clean. It made the soot stick. Jack Callahan knew this better than most. He had spent five years in the Pacific, watching the rain wash bodies off the beaches of Guadalcanal. When he came back, three years ago, he came back with a limp, a tremor in his left hand, and a workshop on 138th Street where he fixed jewelry for people who couldn't afford Cartier...

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Diane Wilson added blog Dance
2026-06-02 17:52:35 -

The Loom and the Bone
The Manchester sky was the color of a bruise, low and heavy over the Ancoats district, when Thomas Harlow first set foot on Potter Street with a canvas satchel on his shoulder and a letter of recommendation in his breast pocket that had been written by a man who did not know him. The letter was addressed to a foreman at Crossby's Mill -- a foreman named Briggs who, Thomas would discover, had...

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