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The Golden MirrorThe fever had taken the taste from my mouth for three days, leaving only a metallic tang that reminded me of old blood and rusted iron. I sat on the edge of my cot in the stone tower, listening to the wind scream against the shutters. It was a sound like a living thing, a thing that wanted in. My father, the Captain, stood by the window, his back to me. He did not turn. He never did when he was...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Pale MeridianThe watchtower stood against the grey sky like a broken tooth in a pale mouth, its stone worn smooth by centuries of rain and the rough hands of those who had stood its watch before. Thomas stood on the narrow ledge, his fingers wrapped around the cold iron of the railing, feeling the chill seep through the leather of his gloves. Below, the valley was a patchwork of dull greens and browns, the...0 Comments 0 Shares 27 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful CampusThe ink is dry. It has been dry for a long time. You know this. You feel the stiffness in your fingers, the ache in your knuckles that mirrors the cracking of the parchment. The room is small. A cell, almost. The walls breathe. Not with air, but with a slow, gray dampness that seeps into the bone. You are a scribe. You are a prisoner. These are the same thing here. You hold the quill. It is a...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
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The Golden MazeThe oak was dying. It stood in the center of the clearing like a skeleton stripped of flesh, its branches clawing at the grey sky. Elias sat at its base, his back against the rough bark. The wood was cold. It bit into his spine. He did not move. He had not moved in three days. The forest was not like other forests. Here, the trees remembered. They held grudges. They whispered names. Elias knew...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful SagaThe rain had not stopped for three days. It hammered against the slate roof of the watchtower, a rhythmic, ceaseless beating that sounded like the heart of a dying beast. I sat in the corner, my back against the cold stone. The leather of my uniform was soaked through. It clung to my skin, heavy and slick. I could feel the dampness seeping into my bones. I was a guard. I was the law. I was the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful SilenceYou stand in the kitchen. The air is thick. It smells of wet earth and rot. You are the investigator. You are the judge. You are the jury. But you are also the prisoner. The house is old. The beams groan. The walls sweat. You hold the bowl. It is clay. It is cold. Inside is a paste. It is brown. It is thick. It moves slowly. It is not food. Not yet. It is a secret. It is a curse. It is the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Golden CircuitThe fluorescent lights of the sub-basement hummed with a frequency that I felt in my teeth, a low, electric drone that had become the soundtrack to my existence. I sat in the blue glow of three monitors, the air conditioning failing to cut the damp chill that seeped through the concrete floor. My fingers, stained with the residue of solder and thermal paste, moved with a mechanical precision...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Golden CircuitThe bread was dry. I remember the dryness. It stuck to the roof of my mouth like old plaster. We sat in the Great Hall of the Abbey, the air thick with the smell of roasted goose and stale wine. The candles were tall tapers, dripping wax onto the stone floor. The stones were cold. My hands were cold. I wrapped my fingers around my mug. The clay was warm. I held it for a long time. I did not...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful PetalThe sword bit deep. Not into flesh. Into stone. It rang. A clear, high note. Like a bell in a hollow throat. He pulled it free. Again. Again. The impact shattered the silence of the cavern. Dust rained down. Fine gray powder. It settled on his shoulders. It settled on the blue wool cloak draped over his chest. The cloak was heavy. Wet with rain. Wet with fear. It had been his father’s. Before...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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