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The Faded ApartmentThe fracture in my left index finger, a hairline fissure that had begun as a dull ache three winters ago, had finally given way to a jagged, splintered break that bled not red, but a thin, viscous amber, the color of old resin, the color of the varnish on the walls of this stone cell where I have spent the better part of my life. I do not look at it; I cannot look at it, for to look would be to...0 Comments 0 Shares 25 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful ThroneThe bird is dead. You find it on the flagstone floor. Its wings are pinned out. The feathers are torn. You do not move. You do not breathe. The air is cold. It smells of wet stone and old blood. You are in the keep. It is a tower. The walls are thick. The windows are narrow. You are the guard. You hold the spear. The spear is heavy. The wood is dark. The tip is iron. You have held it for years....0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant AffairThe room smelled of stale coffee and ozone. It was a small room, white-walled, lit by the hum of fluorescent tubes that flickered whenever the ventilation system kicked in. Elias sat at the metal table. His hands were wrapped in gauze. The bandages were soaked through, dark red at the fingertips, dripping onto the steel surface with a slow, rhythmic tick. He did not flinch. He watched the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful DinnerThe rain did not fall. It struck. It hammered against the oak shutters of the watchtower, a rhythmic, bone-deep thud that matched the pounding in Silas’s temples. He stood by the window, his hand resting on the cold iron of the musket stock. Outside, the fog swirled like a living thing, thick and grey, swallowing the village of Oakhaven in a suffocating embrace. It was the night of the Longest...0 Comments 0 Shares 3 Views 0 Reviews
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The Pale BridgeThe ink began to bleed from the pages of the codex before Arthur realized his hands were shaking. It was not water, nor sweat, but a dark, viscous fluid that seeped through the vellum like a wound refusing to close. He sat in the high-backed chair of the library, the air thick with the scent of dust and old paper, while the words he had spent thirty years deciphering rearranged themselves into...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Faded ChronicleThe ink bled. It spread across the parchment like a bruise. Elias watched it die. He was a binder. Not a bookmaker. A binder. He bound the words of the dead. He kept them safe. The war was far away. Or so he told himself. The city was old. Stone and dust. The air smelled of sulfur. And rot. Elias worked in the cellar. The light was dim. A single candle. Flame. Flicker. He cut the leather....0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant NightmareThe bell rang for supper. It was a low, bronze hum that seemed to vibrate in the marrow of Aldous’s bones. He stood in the vast, echoing hall of the King’s court, his hands still stained with the grease of the forge. He was a smith, yes, but here, in this gilded cage of power, he was merely a pair of hands. The court was a place of whispers and poison. The air smelled of lavender and rot....0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Pale DanceIn the recurring, feverish dream that had plagued him for three weeks, the snow did not fall but rose, spiraling upward from the frozen black earth toward a sky that was the color of a bruised plum, and in the center of this inverted winter stood a woman made entirely of white ash, her face featureless and smooth, holding out a hand that was not a hand but a hollow space where a hand should be,...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant CrownThe river had risen with a sudden, violent indifference that tore the old mill dam from its foundations in a single, thunderous shudder of water and splintered oak, sending a cascade of froth and debris crashing down into the village square where the people of Oakhaven huddled in the mist, their faces pale with a terror that was as much for the loss of their livelihood as it was for the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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