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The Wistful PetalThe rain fell on the city like a grey curtain drawn across a stage. You walked through it. Your boots were heavy. They were iron-shod. They clanged against the cobblestones. The sound was sharp. It cut the silence. You carried the sash. It was red. It was silk. It was your armor. It was your skin. The wind pulled at it. It did not tear. It held. You moved through the streets. The buildings...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Faded ApartmentThe fluorescent lights of the administrative wing do not buzz so much as they hum a low, persistent note of exhaustion that you have learned to mistake for the sound of your own blood rushing in your ears, a phantom frequency that has become so integral to your daily existence that its absence would likely feel like a sudden, violent stop in the world. You are sitting at the end of a long,...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Pale TaleThe rain fell in sheets. It was the kind of rain that turned the road to the village of Oakhaven into a slurry of brown mud. Elias walked. His boots were heavy. They were soaked through. He carried his sword in a cloth bag over his shoulder. It was not drawn. It was not even sharpened. It was just metal. Cold, dead metal. He had walked for three days. His legs ached. His back ached. His mind...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Pale MistThe mist was thick. It tasted of wet stone and old iron. Maren walked. Her boots were heavy. The mud sucked at her heels. She did not look down. To look down was to see the path. To see the path was to remember where she had been. She did not remember. She was walking toward the High Keep. The Keep stood on the cliff. It was black stone. It did not move. The mist swirled around her legs. It was...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful CrossroadsThe fog rolls in thick, tasting of salt and old iron. You stand at the edge of the city, where the cobblestones give way to the mud of the riverbank. It is night, or something like it. The sky is a bruised purple, swollen with stars that do not twinkle but burn, static and cold. You are Margaret. You are not sure why you know this name, but it fits the mouth, heavy and worn like a stone. Beside...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Faded RuinThe rain in Oakhaven does not fall; it settles, a grey, persistent mist that clings to the wool of your coat and the stone of the cobblestones, as if the town itself is breathing a slow, damp sigh. You have lived in the shadow of the Old Mill for thirty years, or perhaps it has lived in you, because you can no longer recall a time when the scent of wet millstone and stale grain was not the very...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Faded ChronicleThe feast was loud. It hammered against the stone walls of the Guild Hall, a relentless drumming of wood on wood and breath against breath. You sat at the long oak table, your hands folded in your lap, the leather of your gloves creaking softly with every shift of your weight. Around you, the masters of the city drank wine the color of bruised plums. They laughed. The sound was wet and heavy,...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Pale MistThe alarm screamed. It was a red light. I woke in the dark. My hands were shaking. I put on the boots. The leather was cold. I pulled on the uniform. The fabric was stiff. I checked the belt. The buckle was tight. I looked in the mirror. My eyes were hollow. I am a man who keeps order. I am a man who breaks things. I walked to the car. The air was thin. The sky was gray. I drove to the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Faded ShieldThe banquet hall of the Ashworth Institute for Advanced Mechanics hummed with a low, electric thrum, a sound that seemed to vibrate in the marrow of the bones rather than just the ears. Crystal chandeliers hung from the vaulted ceiling, casting a fractured, prismatic light over the assembled elite, their faces illuminated by a glow that felt less like warmth and more like the sterile hum of a...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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