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The Golden OathThe air in the infirmary smelled of wet wool and dried lavender, a scent that had permeated the stone walls of the abbey for so long that it seemed to be part of the mortar itself, and you lay there on the straw pallet, watching the dust motes dance in the single shaft of light that pierced the heavy oak shutters, knowing that you were not the first to feel the cold creeping up from your toes,...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Pale PathThe rain did not fall. It hung. A heavy, static mist clung to the branches of the black pines, turning the forest into a gray labyrinth of suspended water. Elias Thorne adjusted the straps of his leather satchel. The leather creaked, a dry sound against the damp air. Inside the bag lay his tools. The calipers. The chisels. The small, precise knives with blades like shards of obsidian. He was a...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Pale GardenI woke with the taste of iron and old roses on my tongue, the air in the attic chamber thick with the scent of decayed velvet and something sweeter, more cloying, like lilies left too long in a vase of stagnant water. The sun had not yet risen over the grey skyline of the city, a jagged tooth of stone and iron that pierced the low, bruised clouds. I was Margaret, though the name felt like a...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Pale FractureThe rain did not fall so much as it was exhaled by the grey, indifferent sky, a constant, wet sigh that soaked the bones of the valley. I stood on the edge of the precipice, the mud clinging to my boots like the guilt I had carried for three years, and I looked down at the river below, churning black and white in the industrial twilight. My hand was a ruin of scar tissue and calluses, a map of...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Faded ChronicleThe air inside the reinforced concrete bunker tasted of copper and stale ozone, a metallic tang that coated the back of Dale’s throat as he stared at the singular, pulsating vein of bioluminescent algae growing through the cracked floor of Sector Four, the creature’s slow, rhythmic throbbing serving as a metronome for his own failing heart which had been beating at an irregular, arrhythmic clip...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Faded PortraitThe bell in the town hall tolled for the seventh time. It was a dull, flat sound. It hung in the air like damp wool. Silas stood in the square. He held his rifle. The wood was cold. It was old. It was his father’s. It was his grandfather’s. The metal was cold too. The crowd was thin. The wind was not. It cut through the wool of his coat. It bit his ears. It bit his nose. He did not move. He did...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Golden MirrorThe ink was still wet when the seal broke. It lay there on the black oak desk, a circle of vermillion so deep it seemed to bleed into the wood, a mark of authority that had once bound a soul to its duty. Elias Thorne stared at it, his hands trembling not with fear, but with the sudden, terrifying weight of their own emptiness. He was a prisoner in a cell of his own making, a man whose identity...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful CampusMara woke with the taste of iron and old ash on her tongue. The dream had left a bruise on the inside of her eye. She lay still in the narrow cot, listening to the wind press against the stone walls of the tower. It was a cold wind, the kind that bites through wool and bone. Outside, the campus of St. Jude’s lay silent under a blanket of frost. The library, the dormitories, the chapel, all of...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant JokeThe coffee is cold. You know this because the surface has formed a skin, a dull, brown membrane that ripples when you stir it with the spoon. It is a precise, technical observation. You are a man who deals in precision. Your title is Inspector, but in this place, in the Bureau of Anomalous Containment, you are a janitor of the impossible. The fluorescent lights hum at a frequency that vibrates...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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