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The Distant GardenThe rain hit the glass. It sounded like teeth clicking. I stood in the kitchen. The house was cold. My name is Silas Vane. I was a Sergeant. I wore the uniform. It was grey. It was stiff. It smelled of wet wool. And fear. My wife was gone. Sarah. She left for London. She said she was tired. Tired of the shadows. Tired of the sound the walls made. She was right. The walls breathed. They...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant TempleThe cart rattles over the cobblestones, a sound like dry bones clicking together in the dark, and you grip the reins until your knuckles turn the color of old parchment. You are a maker of jars, of glass so thin it seems to vanish into the air, and you have carried the last of your wares into the village of Oakhaven for the festival of the Autumnal Moon. The villagers do not want glass anymore....0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Golden QuestThe feast was loud. It was too loud. The tallow candles guttered in the draft that crept under the heavy oak door, casting long, trembling shadows against the stone walls of the hall. You sat at the edge of the long table, your fingers wrapped around a cup of wine that had gone warm and flat. You did not drink. You watched. You always watched. Across the table, the Lord of the manor laughed, a...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Faded PortraitThe separation had not been a decision made in a quiet room, but rather a sudden, violent tearing away, as if the fabric of the world had been ripped asunder by invisible, furious hands, leaving behind only the tattered, bleeding edges of a life that no longer held its shape. Elara Vance stood on the threshold of the sterile, humming corridor of St. Jude’s Institute for Cognitive Restoration,...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful AshesThe kettle screamed. It screamed at a pitch that cut the air, a thin, high wire of sound that vibrated in the teeth. Silas didn’t move. He sat on the edge of the cot. The iron frame dug into his hips. Cold. The room was a box of rust and damp. A single window. A single bar of grey light. Outside, the city churned. Smoke. Steam. The hiss of pressure. "Silas," a voice said. Low. Rough. "Silas."...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful Atlas"You look like a ghost, Elias." The voice was sharp. It cut the air. I turned. The man stood by the window. He wore a coat of black wool. It was thick. It was heavy. It smelled of coal and old money. His name was Mr. Vane. He owned the mill. He owned the town. He owned the breath in my lungs. I held up the shirt. It was white. It was new. The fabric shimmered. It caught the gray light. It was...0 Comments 0 Shares 26 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful MirrorI dreamt of the palace again, or perhaps I was waking into it, for the distinction had long since dissolved into a grey, damp mist that clung to the stone corridors and the breath of the guards, a cold, spectral weight that settled in the lungs and refused to be exhaled. The Great Hall, that cavernous throat of the kingdom, stretched out before me, its vaulted ceiling lost in shadows that...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant PromiseThe uniform is the skin I wear, stitched tight to my ribs, smelling of damp wool and the metallic tang of old blood that never quite washes out. It is not just fabric; it is the architecture of my silence, the heavy curtain that separates the man I was from the thing I have become. I stand before the mirror in the cramped quarters of the Correctional Facility, a place that exists in a blur of...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Faded ParadoxThe rain had not stopped for three days, a relentless, grey curtain that turned the cobblestones of the old town into slick mirrors reflecting nothing but the low, heavy sky. Inside the stone-walled kitchen of the infirmary, the air was thick with the scent of boiled willow bark and wet wool, a pungent, ancient smell that clung to the back of the throat like a bad memory. Elara sat on a wooden...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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