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The Faded PortraitThe train hissed, a dying breath in the cold air. I stepped onto the platform. The town of Oakhaven was small. It had one main street. The church steeple pierced the gray sky. I looked at my hands. They were shaking. Not from the cold. From the weight of what I carried. A wooden box. Inside, a jar of amber liquid. Honeysuckle syrup. My mother’s recipe. The last thing she made. The last thing...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful CrossroadsThe iron key hung at Silas’s belt. It was heavy. Cold. It smelled of rust and old blood. Silas was the Warden of the Grey Hall. The Hall stood on a cliff in the north of England. The wind howled there. It never stopped. It screamed against the stone. It gnawed at the mortar. It sought to break in. Silas had held the key for forty years. He had never let it go. The key was not for a door. It was...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Pale MeridianThe frost bit hard that morning. I felt it in my teeth. The stone floor was cold. It seeped through my thin boots. I looked at the door. It was black wood. It was tall. It did not move. I was young. I was small. My name was Thomas. I stood in the hall. The hall was long. It was empty. The air smelled of dust. It smelled of old wax. I waited. My father stood by the wall. He did not speak. He...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Golden GreenhouseThe bell rings. You are running. The mud is thick. It sucks at your boots. You do not stop. The air tastes of iron and old blood. You are seven. You are small. The shadow is long. It stretches over the town of Oakhaven. It stretches over the cobblestones. It stretches over the huts. You are the boy. You are the keeper of the light. Or so you think. You hold the lantern. It is heavy. The glass...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant PromiseThe train hisses to a halt in the gray throat of the station. You stand by the window. The glass is cold against your cheek. You are leaving. Your bag is light. It holds only your tools and a heavy iron box. The air inside the carriage smells of coal dust and wet wool. It smells like the end of something. The platform is empty. No one is here to see you off. No one is ever here to see you off....0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful VoyageThe heavy oak door of the library groans as you push it open, the sound a low, resonant complaint that vibrates through the soles of your boots and up into your bones. The air inside is thick, stagnant with the scent of decaying paper and the sharp, metallic tang of old iron. You are Margaret Holloway, a scholar of modest means and unyielding integrity, and you have come here to retrieve the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Pale DoorThe rain did not fall so much as it hovered, a suspended grey curtain that swallowed the jagged teeth of the Blackwood Range. Sir Edward Ashworth stood in the center of the valley, his armor dented and streaked with mud, the weight of the world pressed against his breastplate like a physical hand. He was not fighting a man, nor a beast, but the silence that had grown too loud for his ears. The...0 Comments 0 Shares 7 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful SilenceThe silence in the house was not empty; it was heavy, a physical weight that pressed against the back of your throat and settled into the marrow of your bones, a thick, gray fog that you could taste on your tongue, metallic and old. You sat in the armchair by the window, your hands resting on your knees, fingers laced together so tightly that the knuckles turned white, and you watched the rain...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Faded AlibiThe train had been running on schedule for three days, a rhythmic, metallic heartbeat that seemed to vibrate up through the soles of Sergeant Elias Thorne’s boots and settle deep in the marrow of his bones, a steady, unyielding pulse that mirrored the frantic, arrhythmic beating of his own heart as he sat across from his wife, Martha, in the dimly lit, carpeted silence of their private...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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