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The Distant WoundThe air in the observation cell tastes of stale copper and damp concrete, a heavy, industrial tang that coats the back of your throat and settles deep in your lungs, where it mingles with the persistent, rattling cough that has become your second heartbeat since the diagnosis. You are Major Elias Thorne, or so the badge on your chest still claims, though the metal feels cold and foreign against...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Faded ChronicleThe rain had not stopped for three days, a persistent, grey weeping that turned the cobblestones of the old quarter into slick, dark mirrors reflecting the flickering gaslights, and it was in this damp, claustrophobic twilight that I first heard the sound of the door locking from the outside, a heavy, iron clank that vibrated through the floorboards and into the soles of my shoes, signaling to...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful GridThe ink of the entry had barely dried on the damp, gray paper when Arthur realized that the silence of the observatory was not empty, but rather a heavy, breathing thing that pressed against the walls of his mind. It was the autumn of 1893, a year when the ironworks in the valley below churned with a rhythmic, metallic pulse that vibrated up through the soles of his boots, a constant reminder...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Golden Farce"Look at your hands, Thomas." He looked. They were red. Not the bright red of a poppy, but the dull, wet red of old rust. The skin had split. The nails were black. He held them up. They were not his. Or rather, they were his, but they belonged to someone else. Someone who had died a long time ago in a ditch outside the city. "Who did you do it to?" the warden asked. "No one." "Then why the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful LetterElias stood at the window. The rain tapped against the glass. A rhythmic code. He watched the drop slide down. It left a trail. A ghost of water. The house was cold. The coal fire had died. He did not move. He waited for the sound. The sound that meant she was gone. Or that she was coming. The letter lay on the desk. The ink was dry. It had been there for years. He had written it. He had sent...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Faded RoadThe rain has stopped, but the air still tastes of iron and wet ash, a metallic tang that clings to the back of your throat like a bad memory. You are walking. You have been walking for three days, your boots heavy with the mud of the valley, your hands raw and bleeding from the chains that are no longer there, yet whose weight you feel dragging against your wrists. The road ahead is a ribbon of...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant WhispersThe wind did not howl so much as it sighed, a low, resonant exhalation that seemed to pull the very marrow from the bones of the old stone house, a dwelling that had stood on the edge of the jagged cliffs of the Scottish Highlands since a time when the world was younger and the boundaries between the living and the dead were not so strictly defined by the laws of men but by the capricious will...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful AshesThe tower is on fire. You are climbing the stairs, the iron beneath your boots slick with sweat and soot, the heat a physical weight against your skin. Your brother’s scream still echoes in your ears, a jagged shard of sound that will not stop vibrating. You grip the railing. It is hot. You do not let go. “Stop!” The voice comes from below. It is the voice of Lord Ashworth. It is smooth. It is...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Golden CrossingThe rain fell like static. It hissed against the leaded glass of the High Office, a white noise that masked the ticking of the clocks and the breathing of the men. Elias Thorne stood by the window. He was a small man. His uniform was pressed to a razor’s edge. The brass buttons caught the gaslight. They did not shine. They glowed. A dull, sickly amber. He held the object in his left hand. It...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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