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The Pale FractureThe banquet hall of the manor was a cathedral of dust and dying light, where the air hung thick with the scent of roasted game and the heavier, metallic tang of old blood that seemed to seep from the very stones. Elias stood at the far end of the long oak table, his posture rigid, his hands resting on the polished surface as if they were roots anchoring him to the earth while the world above...0 Comments 0 Shares 33 Views 0 Reviews
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The Faded BouquetThe rain had not stopped for three days, a persistent, grey sheet that turned the cobblestones of Blackwood Hollow into slick, reflective mirrors where the distorted faces of the town stared up at the sky, and in that silence, broken only by the rhythmic dripping from the eaves of the old stone manor, Captain Elias Thorne sat in his study, watching the water climb the glass, his eyes fixed not...0 Comments 0 Shares 39 Views 0 Reviews
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The Faded GuestThe rain had turned the heath into a soup of grey mud and black rot, a landscape that felt less like the earth and more like the inside of a bruise. I walked with the weight of my iron plate heavy on my back, the clink of chainmail a dull, rhythmic counterpoint to the drumming against my helm. I was a man of the King’s law, a shield-bearer to the crown, but out here, in the mist that swallowed...0 Comments 0 Shares 32 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful GridThe ink had not yet dried on the ledger, a viscous black river mapping the topography of our ruin, when the frost began to creep across the glass of the counting house, a delicate, crystalline web that mirrored the fracturing of the world I had tried so desperately to hold together with nothing more than balance sheets and the stubborn, brittle hope that numbers would always tell the truth. I...0 Comments 0 Shares 30 Views 0 Reviews
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The Pale AltarThe hall was a wound in the dark. It bled gold. The air tasted of iron and old roses. They drank. They laughed. The laughter sounded like tearing silk. Silas sat at the edge of the table. His hands were still. His mind was a cage. The bars were made of light. He held the cup. The wine was black. It reflected his face. The face was a mask. He did not recognize it. "Drink, Silas," said the Duke....0 Comments 0 Shares 31 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful CipherThe rain did not fall so much as it hung in the air, a suspended grey veil that turned the world outside the window of the study into a blurred, watercolor smear of indistinct shapes and muted colors. Thomas Ashworth sat in the high-backed leather chair, his hands resting on the arms, fingers curled slightly as if he were still holding something fragile, something that had been taken from him...0 Comments 0 Shares 36 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful CampusThe ceiling of the lecture hall gave way with a sound like the breaking of a giant’s ribs, a wet, wooden crack that shattered the silence of the mid-afternoon and sent a cascade of plaster and aged timber raining down onto the heads of the students seated in the front rows, a sudden and violent disintegration that seemed to pull the very air out of the room, leaving everyone gasping in a cloud...0 Comments 0 Shares 27 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant TempleThe banquet hall, which had been a cathedral nave three days prior to the dissolution of the sky, was now a vast, echoing chamber of polished obsidian where the air tasted of copper and burnt sugar. Thomas Bradshaw sat at the head of a long table that curved into the darkness, his uniform still bearing the mud of the border skirmish, though the mud had begun to calcify into something harder,...0 Comments 0 Shares 34 Views 0 Reviews
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The Faded AlibiThe porcelain bird was the only thing in the nursery that did not breathe, yet it seemed to hold its breath more tightly than the boy who sat upon the cold floorboards. It was a white sparrow, glazed in a pale, moonlit blue, perched upon a stand of twisted silver wire. For three years, it had watched the seasons turn in the corner of the room, its glass eyes fixed on the window where the winter...0 Comments 0 Shares 23 Views 0 Reviews
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