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The Pale PathYou tell him you are leaving. It is a Tuesday. The rain has been falling for three days, a thin, grey sheet that blurs the edges of the city until the buildings look like watercolors left out in the wash. You are standing in the doorway of your workshop, the air thick with the smell of wet wool and old dust. He is sitting on the stool in the center of the room, his hands resting on his knees,...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Golden QuestThe rain had been falling on the grey slate roofs of the capital for three days, a persistent, droning curtain that washed the color from the cobblestones and turned the air into a thick, wet wool. Inside the Grand Hall, the air was still and smelled of old wax and the faint, metallic tang of fear. Lord Aldric stood near the center of the room, his hand resting on the pommel of a sword that was...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Golden MazeThe ink did not dry so much as it sank, a black bruise spreading beneath the skin of the parchment, a silent accusation that I could not scrub from my fingers. I sat in the back of the carriage, the wheels churning the wet gravel of the London suburbs into a slurry that shook the bones of the wood, and I watched the rain streak the glass in long, weeping lines. My father had been a printer. Not...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful MountainThe iron gate groaned as my father pushed it open, the sound a long, shuddering tear in the quiet of the morning air, and I stepped out into the grey expanse of the yard where the smoke from the distant mills hung low and heavy, like a shroud draped over the valley. I was seven years old, small and brittle, my fingers wrapped tight around the handle of my father’s walking stick, which was...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Golden HarborThe mirror shattered. Not with a bang. With a gasp. A thin, high-pitched shriek of glass giving up its soul. I was seven. Or eight. Time moved strangely in the Hollow. I looked down. The shard held my face. It was not my face. It was older. Withered. The skin was paper-thin over bone. The eyes were hollow pits. The mouth was a black line. I picked it up. It was warm. It cut. Blood beaded. Red....0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Faded GuestThe train exhaled steam into the frost. It bit the glass. I pressed my face close. The city blurred. Then it sharpened. Iron. Coal. Rain. I held the ledger tight. It was heavy. Cold. My hand trembled. Not from chill. From fear. The institution waited. A black monolith. Spires. Windows. Eyes. I stepped onto the platform. The crowd parted. They looked. Not at me. Through me. I was a ghost. A...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful LetterThe banquet hall of the Ashworth Manor did not smell of decay, as one might expect from a house that had stood empty for three centuries, but of sharp, cold lavender and the metallic tang of old blood that had long since dried into the floorboards. You sat at the head of the table, though you were not the master of the house, nor the guest of honor, but merely the clerk who had been sent to...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Golden FarceThe glass broke. It did not shatter with a crash. It failed with a sigh. A thin, high-pitched whine that vibrated in the teeth of everyone in the room. Then, a web of fractures. Elias stood still. His hand hovered over the surface. He did not pull back. The mirror on the desk was large. It was antique. It was the only thing in the office that had survived the fire of 1924. Now, it was dust. It...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Golden CompassThe bus left at dawn. I stood at the curb with my bag, watching the tail lights fade into the grey mist. My father was not there. He had stopped coming to the curb three months ago. He said the institution required us to separate. It was for my own good, he said, though his voice was thin and brittle, like dry leaves. I nodded. I did not argue. I had learned that arguing only made the walls...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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