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The Distant TempleThe train cut through the London fog like a silver blade slicing through a bruise, carrying me toward the city that had once promised to consume my soul but had instead merely digested it, leaving behind only a hollow, echoing shell of a man who still remembered the taste of the old magic. I sat in the corner of the second-class carriage, my knees pressed against the window glass, watching the...0 Comments 0 Shares 51 Views 0 Reviews
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The Pale BonsaiI sat in the hollow of the ancient elm, my roots drinking the damp earth. The war had come for the trees first. I watched the men in iron coats march across the meadow, their boots striking the grass like dry bones. I was an elm. I did not speak. I did not move. I only held the sky up with my branches. The men were small. They were loud. They carried axes that gleamed in the weak sun. I...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Golden MythThe banquet hall smelled of roasted pork and wet wool, a thick, cloying mixture that clung to the back of my throat and settled in the hollows of my elbows, and I stood there, a small, trembling thing in a suit that had once belonged to my father, watching the hands of the men who held the world in their palm. They were large, red, and swollen with the power of their wealth, moving with a slow,...0 Comments 0 Shares 15 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant WhispersThe dream was of roots. Not the white, taproots of turnips, but the gnarled, black tangle of an ancient oak that had grown through the flagstones of the cellar. In the dream, Maren held a lantern. The flame did not flicker. It burned with a cold, blue stillness. She walked down the stairs, her bare feet sinking into the dust. The dust was warm. It smelled of wet wool and old blood. Her husband,...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Golden Ritual"You are late," said the Warden. I bowed. My neck cracked. "Three minutes," I said. "Time is not a suggestion here," the Warden replied. His voice was dry. Like leaves in a jar. "The court has convened." The room was small. White. It smelled of bleach and old paper. We sat in a circle. No chairs. Just the floor. Cold tile. My knees ached. The Warden sat opposite me. His eyes were grey. Flat....0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant ThresholdThe dream is always the same. You are standing in a hallway that stretches too far, the wallpaper peeling in long, sickly strips. The air tastes of copper and old paper. You are holding a glass pendant. It is small, circular, etched with a face you cannot quite see. You know it is your mother’s. You know it is broken. You are trying to hold the pieces together with your bare fingers, but they...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Golden SongThe feast was not for your eyes, but for the air. You sat at the long oak table in the center of the warehouse, surrounded by the humming vibration of the machinery that had once kept the town alive and now only kept it warm. The air smelled of stale beer, wet wool, and the metallic tang of fear. You were the master of this place, or at least you had been for the last three years, since the war...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Pale GardenThe banquet hall of the Hollow Spire did not smell of food, but of ozone and old blood. It was a place suspended in the amber glow of a sun that had long since set, where the chandeliers were not made of crystal, but of calcified bone and spun glass that sang in frequencies only the dead could hear. Sir Alistair Thorne sat at the head of a table long enough to span the length of a cathedral...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Pale MeridianThe rain did not fall so much as it hung in the air, a gray, suffocating mist that turned the cobblestones of the old quarter into slick, treacherous mirrors. I stood on the porch of the Whitmore estate, my boots soaked through to the leather, watching the fog swallow the street where my wife, Sarah, had vanished three days prior. The house loomed before me, a monolith of dark stone and sharper...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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