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The Pale TaleThe server room hummed. It was a low, constant vibration that lived in the floorboards. We felt it in our teeth. We ignored it. I was the junior archivist. My job was to clean. I removed dust from the hard drives. I checked the temperature logs. I kept the air cool. The air was always cool. My name is Elias. I wore a gray shirt. I wore black shoes. I did not speak much. I was good at silence....0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
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The Pale MistThe iron lung of the mill groaned against the silence of the house, a rhythmic, metallic respiration that you had long since ceased to hear with your ears but felt in the marrow of your bones. You sat in the parlor, the air thick with the scent of beeswax and the lingering, copper taste of blood, while outside, the fog rolled in from the valley like a living thing, erasing the boundary between...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Pale GardenThe road was wet. Cold. It bit through Thomas’s boots. He walked. The fog rolled in from the valley below, thick and white. It smelled of rot. Of wet wool. Of old blood. Thomas pulled his cloak tighter. The wool scratched his neck. He did not stop. He could not stop. Behind him, the trees watched. Silent. Tall. They leaned in, like gossips. "Are you there, Thomas?" The voice came from the mist....0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Pale MistThe rain had not stopped for three days. It drummed against the leaded glass of the High Council chamber, a relentless, rhythmic tapping that seemed to count out the seconds of a life already spent. Professor Arthur Pendelton sat in the corner of the room, his knees drawn up to his chest. He was a small man, dressed in a suit that had been fashionable twenty years prior, the fabric thin and...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Golden MasterThe air in the greenhouse tasted of copper and crushed mint, a sharp, metallic sweetness that coated the back of your throat before you even realized you had breathed it in. You sat on the cold concrete floor, your back against the iron frame of a trellis that had long since been abandoned to rust. Before you, in the center of the glass-walled sanctuary, stood the orchid. It was not a plant in...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful LetterThe banquet hall of Blackwood Manor smelled of roasted pheasant and old stone. Candles, hundreds of them, flickered against the high vaulted ceiling, casting a warm, honeyed glow over the silver trestles and the embroidered tablecloths. It was a scene of opulence that seemed to defy the damp, grey November pressing against the leaded windows. Lady Eleanor Vane sat at the head of the table, her...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant ClueThe iron taste of your own blood is the only thing that makes sense right now, a metallic tang that coats your tongue and reminds you that you are still alive, that the arrow has not yet found the soft place behind your ear, and you stand there in the mud, your legs shaking so violently that you think they might simply buckle and send you face first into the wet earth, while the sound of the...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
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The Golden SongThe train left at four. It always left at four. I held the ticket. It was thin. It was brown. It smelled of dust. I held it in my left hand. My right hand was empty. My right hand was shaking. I was twelve. I was not afraid of the train. I was afraid of the word. The word was *Mare*. It was written on the ticket. It was my name. It was not my name. It was the name of the girl who sat next to...0 Comments 0 Shares 13 Views 0 Reviews
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The Faded FrequencyThe letter arrived on a Tuesday, sealed with wax the color of dried blood. It was from the High Council of the North, a body of men who sat in shadowed chambers and decided the fate of men like me. I broke the seal. The ink was fresh, black and stark against the pale parchment. It commanded my return to the Citadel. It cited insubordination. It cited the death of Lord Alistair. It demanded I...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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