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The Distant PromiseThe dream is not a place but a pressure, a heavy, wet wool pressed against your face, and you are running through the corridors of the Ashworth estate, the air thick with the smell of coal smoke and dried lavender, your hands wrapped around a single, cold object that pulses with a rhythm that is not quite your own heart. You wake with the taste of iron on your tongue, the taste of old blood,...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Golden VisitYou wake in a house that is not yours. The air is thick. It smells of wet wool and old dust. You lie on a bed with sheets that feel like cold water. The light is grey. It comes from a window high above. You do not move. You are a soldier. You know this. You have the weight of a rifle on your shoulder, though it is not there. You feel the phantom strain. Your muscles are locked. This is a dream....0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Faded PortraitThe sky did not break open; it collapsed. It happened at the height of noon, when the sun hung like a white eye over the village of Oakhaven, and the air grew thick with the smell of ozone and wet stone. The village elders, men whose faces were carved by the same wind that had weathered the cliffs, looked up and saw the heavens bleed a color that had no name. It was not red, nor black, but a...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant CrownThe hall smelled of roasted boar and damp wool. It smelled of fear. The fire roared. It was a beast in itself. Edgar sat at the head of the long table. He was old. His hands shook. Not from cold. From the weight of the years. The years were a stone in his stomach. They did not move. They only grew heavier. Around him, the knights ate. They laughed. The sound was sharp. It cut the air. They were...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant WoundThe train rattled through the valley, a skeletal thing of iron and steam, cutting through the grey mist that clung to the hills like a shroud. Arthur Penhallow sat in the corner of the second-class carriage, his knees pressed tight against the seat in front of him. He was a small man, precise in his movements, with hands that trembled slightly as he adjusted the leather strap of his satchel....0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Faded ShieldThe fire took the east wing first. It started in the cellar. A smell of sulfur and wet ash. Then the crackle. The sound of oak splitting under heat. Thomas Ashworth stood on the balcony. The air tasted of smoke. He held his shield. It was old. The paint was peeling. The wood was dry. He was a captain. Or he had been. The badge was gone. The orders were void. He was a man in a house that was...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Faded ChronicleThe hall smelled of roasted boar and wet wool. Candlelight flickered on the stone walls. Shadows danced. Sir Thomas sat at the high table. His hands were still. He held a cup of wine. The liquid was dark. It reflected the flame. He watched the room. Men moved. They laughed. They drank. The air was thick. Smoke hung low. Thomas felt a tightness in his chest. He breathed in. He breathed out. He...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Pale EchoThe silence that fell over the Grand Hall of the Ministry of Internal Security was not an absence of sound but a physical weight, a thick, suffocating fog that settled into the lungs of every man and woman present, erasing the faint hum of the ventilation systems and the distant, muffled thunder of rain against the high, arched windows that framed the grey, rain-slicked cityscape below. Colonel...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant AffairThe rain had not stopped for three days, a grey, persistent weeping that turned the cobblestones of our ancestral home into slick mirrors of the slate sky above. I sat in the high-backed chair by the window, the wood worn smooth by the hands of my forebears, feeling the dampness seep into the marrow of my bones. My wife, Elara, stood in the center of the room, her back to me, staring at the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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