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The Golden CellarThe feast was loud. It was a roar of silver and skin, of roasted boar and wine that stained the linen. You sat at the head of the table, but you felt small. The room spun. Your hands were steady, but the world was not. You are the Goldsmith. You have made the crown for the King. You have made the chalice for the Bishop. You have made the lockets for the widows. But tonight, the gold is heavy....0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant WoundThe feast is over. The plates are clean. You sit in the cold, staring at the iron object in your hands. It is heavy. It is warm. You know what it is. You have known for a long time. You just did not want to see it. It is a key. No. Not a key. It is a lock. The room smells of stale wine and wet wool. The other guests have left. They took their coats. They took their dignity. They left you with...0 Comments 0 Shares 4 Views 0 Reviews
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The Faded BouquetThe smell of rotting apples was the first thing that greeted Elias Thorne when he opened the cellar door, a thick, sweet fog that tasted of iron and decay on the back of his tongue. It was a scent that had become his own, inextricably woven into the wool of his coat and the pores of his skin, a perfume of preservation that had long since curdled into putrefaction. He stood in the cold air of...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful SilenceThe rain hit the cobblestones. It was a heavy, grey sheet. It did not stop. It had not stopped for three days. The city of Oakhaven was a lung. It breathed in the mist. It exhaled the cold. Thomas stood by the window. His hands were still. They were rough. They were scarred. He wore the coat. It was black wool. It was heavy. It smelled of lavender and old smoke. It was his mother’s. She had...0 Comments 0 Shares 6 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful CampusThe stone beneath your fingers is cold, a deep, arterial chill that seeps through the wool of your sleeve and settles into the marrow of your bones, a sensation so profound it feels less like temperature and more like a memory of the earth itself trying to reclaim what has been stolen from it. You are standing in the cloister of St. Aldhelm’s, a place that has not changed in four centuries...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Golden SongThe alarm did not ring. It screamed, a jagged tear in the fabric of the night that shattered the silence of the barracks. Sergeant Elias Thorne woke not to the sound, but to the weight of the ceiling pressing down upon his lungs. The air in the room was thick, tasting of copper and ozone, a metallic tang that coated the back of his throat. He rolled out of the narrow bunk, his boots hitting the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Pale EchoThe glass is cold. It sits on the table. You look at it. It is a tumbler. Thick base. Clear water. A single drop. It rolls down. It hits the wood. It vanishes. The room is quiet. Dust motes dance. Sunlight cuts. You are alone. The clock ticks. Tick. Tick. Tick. The sound is loud. The sound is heavy. You wait. You always wait. The town is gray. The sky is gray. The factories smoke. Black smoke....0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful VoyageThe rain had not stopped for three days, a persistent, gray curtain that blurred the edges of the highway and turned the world into a watercolor painting left out in a storm, and I sat in the passenger seat of my mother’s sedan, watching the wipers beat their frantic, syncopated rhythm against the glass, each swipe wiping away the present only to have it rush back in with renewed, wet...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant PromiseThe mud sucked at his boots. Leo ran. His lungs burned. The rain fell hard. It was a cold rain. It cut like glass. He looked back. The shadows moved. They were fast. They were many. Leo did not stop. He could not stop. He held the box. It was heavy. It was iron. It was cold. It was his father’s. The forest was dark. The trees were old. The roots tripped him. He fell. He slid. The mud was...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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