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The Faded PortraitThe dream began with the smell of wet stone. It was not a pleasant smell. It was the smell of deep places. Of roots drinking dark water. Thomas woke with his mouth dry. He looked at the wall. The wallpaper was peeling. Yellowed. Like old skin. He lived alone in a small house near the village. He was a clerk. A minor one. He kept records for the estate. Numbers. Names. Dates. It was quiet work....0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Golden ScarThe air in the Refectory tasted of copper and stale yeast, a thick, suffocating haze that clung to the back of the throat like a second skin. I sat at the long oak table, my hands resting flat on the rough-hewn wood, feeling the grain bite into my palms, while the great chandelier above flickered with the unstable hum of the city’s central grid. Around me, the officers ate in a silence that was...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Pale PathThe train did not stop at the station. It slid past with a groan of metal on iron, leaving a ribbon of steam that hung in the cold air like a ghost refusing to dissipate. Silas stood on the platform, his coat buttoned to the chin, watching the lights recede into the grey. He had been expecting a door to open. He had been expecting a voice to call his name, to tell him he had failed the final...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant ClueThe air in the town hall smelled of stale beer and damp wool, a thick, suffocating blend that clung to the backs of our necks as we sat in the rows of folding chairs, waiting for the man who was supposed to save us from the thing that was coming, the thing that had already begun to bleed into the edges of our days and nights with a slow, viscous certainty that no one in the town of Blackwood...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful AsylumThe banquet hall smelled of roasted duck and stale wood polish. It was a smell that had settled into the floorboards over decades, a heavy, greasy layer that no amount of scrubbing could lift. Thomas sat at the far end of the long table, his hands folded in his lap. He was twelve years old. He looked small against the high-backed chair, his shoulders hunched as if trying to disappear into the...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Faded PhotographThe banquet hall of the St. Jude’s Reformatory for Juvenile Delinquents smelled of boiled cabbage, stale beer, and the metallic tang of old blood, a pungent triad that had become as familiar to Thomas Ashworth as the weight of his own uniform or the rhythmic, maddening thud of the loom in the next room. It was a feast of sorts, a grotesque parody of the high-society dinners his father had once...0 Comments 0 Shares 30 Views 0 Reviews
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The Golden EchoesThe rain fell on the slate roof of St. Jude’s Orphanage in long, unbroken sheets, a grey curtain that blurred the world outside into a smear of mud and dead leaves. Inside the dormitory, the air was thick with the scent of damp wool and the faint, sweet rot of the soup that had been served for dinner three hours prior. Thomas sat on the edge of his narrow bed, his knees drawn up to his chest,...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful Saga"You're holding the wrong end of the stick, David," the Dean said. He did not look up from his tablet. The glass screen reflected the gray light of the faculty lounge, a cold, sterile glare that seemed to scrub the color from the room. David stood by the window. Rain streaked the pane, blurring the view of the quad into a smear of wet slate and dying ivy. "I am correcting the record, sir,"...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful SagaThe rain has not stopped for three days, a persistent, grey sheet that blurs the distinction between the pavement and the curb outside your office window. You are standing at the glass, watching the water bead and run, your hand resting on the cold surface, feeling the vibration of the city’s subterranean engines humming through the floor. Your left shoulder aches, a dull, throbbing pain that...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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