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The Wistful AshesThe clock shattered. It did not fall. It did not break. It unmade itself. A thousand shards of obsidian glass and brass suspended in the air, a halo of jagged stars around the mantelpiece. They hung there, trembling, reflecting a light that had no source. Elias watched. He stood in the center of the room. His shirt was untucked. His tie was loosened. He smelled of coffee and rain. "Look," said...0 Comments 0 Shares 28 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant GhostYou wake in a room that is not a room. It is a box of gray light and humming wires. The air tastes of ozone and old dust. You are Margaret. You know this because the name is stitched into the fabric of your mind. It is a label. It is a cage. The glass is cracked. You look up. A spiderweb of fissures runs across the pane before you. It starts at the top left corner. It ends at your eye level....0 Comments 0 Shares 31 Views 0 Reviews
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The Golden OathThe bell tower of St. Jude’s stood hollow. Elias climbed. The stone was slick with moss and memory. He held the glass. It was heavy. It was light. It was the only thing left of his father. The wind tore at his coat. He did not look down. To look down was to fall. To fall was to break. He had seen enough breaking. Below, the city of Ashworth slept. Or pretended to. The smoke from the kilns...0 Comments 0 Shares 27 Views 0 Reviews
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The Pale EchoThe beetle hit the glass. It shattered. I stood there. My hands were still. “Did you see that?” asked Miller. He was young. Too young. He wore a clean shirt. The collar was stiff. I looked at the hole. The wind rushed in. It smelled of rot. It smelled of old blood. “The specimen is gone,” I said. My voice was flat. Miller stepped back. He kicked a leaf. “It was just a bug, Elias. A little...0 Comments 0 Shares 31 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful IncenseThe road to the estate of Lord Blackwood was not a path but a scar, cut deep into the grey moors by centuries of indifferent rain. I walked it with a satchel strapped across my chest, the leather creaking with a rhythm that matched my own heavy, aching stride. Inside the satchel was not gold, nor jewels, nor even the stolen letters that had started this whole wretched affair. It was a jar of...0 Comments 0 Shares 26 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful CrossroadsThe rain fell in long, silver threads against the glass. It was a steady, industrial drizzle that turned the world outside the window of the cell into a gray smear. Silas Vane sat on the cold iron bunk. He did not look at the wall. He looked at the hand in his lap. It was a heavy hand, knuckles swollen, skin rough like cured leather. But it was not just a hand. It was a seal. A brand of ink and...0 Comments 0 Shares 30 Views 0 Reviews
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The Golden MythThe loom clicked. It was a dry, wooden sound. I sat at the center of the hall. The air smelled of wool and old stone. My hands moved. They knew the pattern. I did not have to think. The threads were red and gold. The gold was rare. It came from the mines in the north. It was heavy. It was bright. It burned the eye. I am a weaver. I work for the Guild. The Guild is old. The Guild is cruel. They...0 Comments 0 Shares 26 Views 0 Reviews
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The Pale Bonsai"You have no soul, you claim," I said. The voice belonged to the Warden. It was deep. It rumbled like stones in a river. I stood in the center of the hall. The floor was cold. It was stone. It was old. The air smelled of damp earth and old paper. I was wearing a grey coat. It was too heavy. It weighed me down. I liked the weight. It kept me grounded. The Warden sat on a high chair. He was a...0 Comments 0 Shares 30 Views 0 Reviews
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The Pale TaleThe mud sucked at the boots of Captain Elias Thorne. He did not feel it. He only felt the weight of the iron. The iron was his name. The iron was his face. The iron was the cold thing in his belly. He stood in the ditch. The rain fell like a gray curtain. It hid the world. It hid the enemy. It hid the truth. "Forward," said Lieutenant Miller. His voice was thin. It was a thread in the wind....0 Comments 0 Shares 31 Views 0 Reviews
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