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The Pale BannerThe glass cracked. A single hairline fracture. It ran from the top left corner down to the bottom right. I saw it. My hands were still shaking. The vibration of the machine hummed in my teeth. We were inside the Mill. The old textile factory. Brick walls. High ceilings. Dust motes dancing in the shafts of light. My father stood beside me. He wore a suit that fit him poorly. He smelled of stale...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
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The Pale ExileThe jar sat on the high shelf. You watched it. It was white. Porcelain. Thin as a child’s wrist. You reached for it. Your fingers brushed the glaze. Cold. Smooth. You pulled your hand back. Not yet. Lord Ashworth sat at the head of the table. He did not look up. He sliced a peach. The knife was silver. The juice ran down his thumb. He did not wipe it. "Speak," he said. You did not speak. You...0 Comments 0 Shares 3 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful CampusThe gavel struck the mahogany podium with a sound like a bone breaking, sharp and final, echoing off the high vaulted ceilings of the university senate chamber. Dr. Elias Thorne stood at the center of the room, his hands trembling not from fear, but from the sheer, crushing weight of the silence that had settled over the faculty. He was a small man, his clothes ill-fitting as if he had...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
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The Pale ShadowsThe shield of Aldric Vane cracked under the weight of a mace that smelled of rust and old blood. He did not flinch. He had long since stopped flinching. The noise of the battlefield was a dull, rhythmic thrum, like the beating of a great heart buried deep beneath the earth, but to Aldric it sounded like the ticking of an hourglass. Sand was falling. Sand was always falling. He parried, his...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful MirrorThe door closed. The lock clicked. It was a small sound. A heavy sound. It echoed in the narrow hallway. Elias sat. He did not move. His hands rested on his knees. They were still. They were cold. The room was small. The walls were thin. They breathed. They watched. He was a clerk. He counted numbers. He kept ledgers. He was good at it. He was good at silence. On the desk, a glass sat. It was...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
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The Faded RiverThe door shuts behind you. The lock clicks. It is a small sound. But it is loud in your head. You are standing on the porch. The wood is cold under your feet. You look at the house. It is quiet. The lights are off. You did not turn them off. He did. He left them off. He left everything off. You have been here for ten years. You do not remember the first year. You remember the second. You...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
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The Faded ChronicleThe sky above the valley of Aethelgard did not fall; it peeled away like wet parchment, revealing the jagged, starless void beneath. It was a Tuesday in the season of high frost, and the air smelled of ozone and crushed iron. Elias Thorne stood on the precipice of the Obsidian Cliff, his boots sinking into the frost-hardened earth. He was not a man of legend, nor of war. He was a clerk for the...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful MountainThe shrapnel had not killed him, nor had the blast, but the silence that followed the impact was a physical weight, a thick, gray sludge that coated the inside of his chest and settled into the marrow of his bones, leaving him gasping not for air but for a memory of what peace had sounded like before the world had turned into a machine of grinding metal and screaming flesh. He lay in the...0 Comments 0 Shares 5 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful AtlasI woke up in a sweat, the smell of wet concrete and old copper still clinging to the back of my throat, that metallic taste that comes when you know something is wrong before you’ve even opened your eyes. I was lying in the guest room of the manor, the one with the high ceilings and the draft that whistled through the cracks in the window frame, a sound like a dying breath. The house was dark,...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
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