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The Wistful CampusYour hand is gone. Not missing. Gone. The skin is smooth. Unbroken. No scar. No stump. Just the pale, unblemished whiteness of your wrist, ending in nothing. You look down. You look again. Your fingers are there. Five of them. They twitch. They are warm. But the palm? The connection? It is severed. In the air. You are in the lecture hall. Row forty. The last row. The light is gray. The dust...0 Comments 0 Shares 7 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful ThroneThe road to the city of Aethelgard was not so much a path as a wound in the earth, a long, red gash that bled dust into the wind. Thomas Bradshaw walked it with the heavy, deliberate steps of a man who had long since stopped expecting the ground to hold him. He was a man of the law, or had been, before the law had turned its face away from him like a lover repulsed by a sudden, inexplicable...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful MirrorThe rain fell in sheets, grey and relentless, blurring the line between the road and the sky. It was a cold that bit through wool and bone, a chill that seemed to emanate from the earth itself. "Are you sure, Thomas?" The voice was thin, trembling against the wind. "The bridge is out. The water is rising." Thomas did not answer. He tightened his grip on the reins. The horse, a sturdy brown mare...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant GardenThe rain fell on the tin roof of the barracks like a thousand small, angry fingers. Silas Vance did not look up. He wiped his rifle with a rag that had long since lost its whiteness. The wood was warm under his palms. The metal was cold. He was a soldier. He had been a soldier for forty years. He was also a man. He had been a man for eighty. The distinction was becoming blurred. He sat in the...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Pale AltarThe rain did not fall. It struck. Elias stood at the window of the fourth floor. He watched the wiper on the parking lot below. It moved. It stopped. It moved again. A mechanical heartbeat. He had been here for four hours. The fluorescent lights buzzed. A low, constant drone. It sat in his teeth. He pressed his thumb against the glass. It was cold. "Are you ready?" The voice came from behind....0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Faded ShieldYou wear the coat. It is heavy wool. It smells of tobacco and wet wool and old blood. You have worn it for six years. You do not wash it. You do not take it off. It is your skin now. You stand in the rain. The town is gray. The rain is gray. Your face is gray. You look at the shield. It is on the wall. It is faded. The red paint is peeling. The gold is dull. It looks like a wound that will not...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Faded SutraThe house was dying, a slow hemorrhage of plaster and rot that Margaret Holloway tried to patch with her bare hands and a silence that had grown teeth, a silence that chewed on the bones of the walls until they crumbled into dust that settled on the floorboards like ash from a fire that had burned out decades ago. She stood in the center of the parlor, her fingers caked in the white powder of...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Golden SongThe rain did not fall so much as it hung, a suspended grey curtain that swallowed the moorland whole, erasing the horizon and leaving only the wet, churning black of the heather and the white, blind look of the mist. Thomas Ashworth walked with his head down, his boots finding the rhythm of the path by memory rather than sight, a rhythmic thud that sounded too loud in the silence, a hammer...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Pale CircusThe air in the hangar smelled of ozone, stale coffee, and the metallic tang of fear. It was a scent that had become the background noise of Elias Thorne’s life, a constant reminder of the machinery that kept the world turning while the world itself seemed to be unraveling. He stood by the open cargo bay door, watching the dawn break over the Pacific, the light turning the water into a sheet of...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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