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The Pale MistThe dog was dead. Or at least, that is what the men in the blue coats said. They stood in the kitchen, their breath fogging in the cold air, holding their rifles like tools. You sat at the table. Your hands were wrapped around a cup of tea. The steam curled up, thin and fragile, like a ghost trying to leave. The dog lay by the hearth. It was a large beast, a mix of mastiff and something older....0 Comments 0 Shares 34 Views 0 Reviews
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The Pale MeridianThe sky broke open over the ridge before the sirens even started. It was not a thunderstorm. The light was white and absolute, stripping the color from the pines, from the dirt road, from the face of the boy named Julian. He stood in the middle of the gravel, his boots sinking slightly into the loose shale. He was ten years old. He wore a flannel shirt that was too big for his shoulders and...0 Comments 0 Shares 35 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant MetropolisThe gas lamps in the Hall of Antiquities did not buzz; they hissed, a low, continuous exhalation that seemed to come from the very stones of the Victorian floor. Elias Thorne stood at the center of the rotunda, his silhouette swallowed by the amber gloom, watching the single blackbird perched on the brass railing of the mezzanine. It was a small, soot-dusted thing, its feathers matted with the...0 Comments 0 Shares 33 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful AtlasThe rain did not fall so much as it hovered, a suspended grey mist that clung to the stone walls of the Citadel of Aethelgard, blurring the line between the sky and the earth until the world seemed to dissolve into a single, weeping entity. Captain Elias Thorne walked the perimeter with the heavy, rhythmic tread of a man who had forgotten how to rest, his boots sinking into the mud that was...0 Comments 0 Shares 36 Views 0 Reviews
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The Pale VerdictYou walk into the town of Oakhaven with your boots caked in the red clay of the valley floor. The mud is thick. It sticks to your ankles. It stains the hem of your tunic. You do not wipe it away. You let it dry. You let it crack. You are here to serve the law. Or so they say. You are here to serve the order. The town is small. It smells of coal smoke and wet wool. The houses are narrow and...0 Comments 0 Shares 35 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant LegendThe glass was cold. It sat on the desk in front of me, a perfect, unbroken square of light. I held it in my hands. My fingers were trembling. Not from cold. From the weight of it. It was small. Lighter than a book. But it felt heavy. Like a stone. Like a promise. I am twelve years old. My name is Arthur. I live in Oakhaven. The mill is behind our house. It runs all day. The sound is in my...0 Comments 0 Shares 34 Views 0 Reviews
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The Golden SongThe fog rolled in from the river at dusk, thick as wool and carrying the metallic tang of the ironworks, settling over the town of Kettle Creek with a silence that was not peace but a held breath, a suspension of time in which the soot-stained brick row houses seemed to lean inwards, conspiring against the light, and in the center of this grey, industrial expanse stood the great elm tree, its...0 Comments 0 Shares 38 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant AffairThe ice cracked first. Then the world broke. I stood on the edge of the frozen lake. The surface was a mirror of black glass. It held my reflection. I saw my face. I saw the red scarf. I saw the snow falling. It was quiet. Too quiet. The lake gave way. The cold bit into my boots. It bit into my soul. I slid. I fell. The water was black. It swallowed my legs. It swallowed my waist. It swallowed...0 Comments 0 Shares 35 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful IncenseThe smell of burnt sugar and old paper hung in the air of the Ministry of Minor Disputes, thick enough to taste, sticky on the back of the teeth. It was a Tuesday, or perhaps a Wednesday; time in the basement levels of the Department of Administrative Continuity had a way of pooling, stagnant and dark, like water in a cracked basin. Arthur Pym sat at his desk, a rectangle of polished oak that...0 Comments 0 Shares 34 Views 0 Reviews
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