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The Distant NightmareThe frost bit into the stone walls of the cathedral, a crystalline lace that had been growing for weeks, encroaching upon the altar with a slow, geometric inevitability. I stood in the shadows of the nave, my breath misting in the cold air, watching the ivy that choked the eastern window. It was a heavy, dark green thing, thick and pulsing with a life that seemed indifferent to the decay of the...0 Comments 0 Shares 4 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant MetropolisThe iron tasted of rust and old blood, a metallic tang that coated the back of my throat as I pressed my lips to the cold, damp stone of the dungeon floor. I was twelve, or perhaps thirteen; time had ceased to have any meaning in the deep, lightless belly of the Keep of St. Jude, where the air hung heavy with the scent of rot and the distant, rhythmic thud of the portcullis being raised and...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful DinnerThe hall smelled of rot and rosin. It was a thick, cloying scent that clung to the throat, a physical weight in the air of the old mill house. We were gathered for the Feast of the Hollow, a night when the village of Oakhaven let its guard down and looked into the dark water of the river to see what swam beneath. I was twelve. I sat at the long oak table, my hands clasped over a plate of grey...0 Comments 0 Shares 5 Views 0 Reviews
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The Faded MasqueradeThe cellar smelled of damp earth and the metallic tang of old pennies. It was a scent that had settled into the porous stone walls, a permanent fixture as enduring as the mold that crept across the ceiling in grey, fractal patterns. Elias Thorne sat on a overturned crate, his back straight, his hands resting on his knees. They were steady hands. They had always been steady hands, even when the...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Faded RoadThe rain did not fall so much as it hung, a suspended curtain of grey water that blurred the edges of the city into a smeared watercolor of brick and steel. Sergeant Elias Thorne stood at the intersection of Fourth and Main, his hand resting on the hilt of a weapon that was no longer a weapon, just a heavy, cold piece of metal that hummed with a frequency only he could feel. The rain slicked...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant GardenThe steam from the ironing board curled into the stagnant air of the workshop, a pale ghost that smelled of lavender and old cotton, while Silas Thorne stood before the window watching the rain streak the glass in long, weeping lines that mirrored the gray decay of his own knuckles, which were swollen and twisted like the roots of the oak tree that had once stood in the yard of his childhood...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant AffairThe rain in the Blackwood Valley did not fall so much as it hovered, a suspended gray mist that smelled of wet iron and rotting leaves. Inside the stone keep, the air was still and thick, pressing against the skin like a damp cloth. Elias Thorne sat by the hearth, his hands resting on his knees. They were large hands, scarred by years of service to the Crown, but they trembled now. Not from...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant CrownThe building does not look like a home. It looks like a wound in the city’s skin, a jagged scar of concrete and rusted iron that has forgotten how to hold water. You are standing before it now, in the gray hour before dawn, when the fog clings to the pavement like a shroud. You have waited for this moment for thirty years. Your knees ache. Your lungs, scarred by the smog of a life lived on the...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant WoundThe rain did not fall so much as it hung in the air, a suspended gray curtain that smelled of wet ash and old iron, while I stood at the edge of the precipice and watched the mist swallow the lower valley. "You are late, sir," the voice came from behind me, low and raspy, like the grinding of stones in a dry riverbed. I did not turn. I knew the weight of the presence at my back, the specific...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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