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The Pale DanceThe rain fell in sheets, gray and relentless, blurring the world outside the iron gates into a smear of mud and rot. I carried my basket of herbs. The weight was a familiar anchor, pulling me down into the earth, into the silence that lived beneath my ribs. My father’s voice had been the only sound in the house for twenty years. Now that he was gone, the silence was a living thing, breathing in...0 Comments 0 Shares 27 Views 0 Reviews
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The Pale BridgeThe mist did not roll in from the sea, as the old maps suggested, but seeped up from the cracked pavement of the industrial district, a thick, grey slurry that tasted of rust and wet ash. Elias Thorne stood on the rusted iron footbridge that spanned the dry canal, his breath visible in the chill November air. He was not here to enjoy the view. The view was a ruin of brick and skeletal steel, a...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Faded RuinI woke up with blood in my mouth. It tasted like copper and old pennies. I spat it out onto the cold stone floor. It was dark. Too dark. The air smelled of rotting meat and wet ash. I was alive. I knew I was alive because I was in pain. My head throbbed. A dull, rhythmic pounding behind my eyes. I reached for the wall. It was slick. Slime? No. Sweat. Someone’s sweat. Or maybe mine. I didn’t...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Golden SongThe air in the High Hall of Aethelgard tasted of iron and old smoke, a metallic tang that coated the back of Aldric’s throat as he raised the broken hilt of his sword. It was not a weapon anymore, merely a splinter of steel and oak that had failed him, and in his hand, it felt like a dead thing, cold and useless against the pulsing, unnatural heat of the creature before him. The beast was not...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant BladeThe road is wet. It is not rain, exactly. It is the breath of the mountain, cold and sharp against your cheeks. You walk. Your boots sink into the mud. You do not look down. You look at the stone wall of the castle ahead. It looms. It is old. It is waiting. You are Eleanor. You are tired. Your hands are raw. The blisters have burst and dried. They are maps of your suffering. You carry a basket....0 Comments 0 Shares 3 Views 0 Reviews
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The Faded GuestI woke with the taste of iron and old rain on my tongue, the air in the small, windowless study thick with the scent of damp wool and decaying paper. It was not the sun that announced the morning, but the relentless, rhythmic scratching of a quill against parchment, a sound that seemed to emanate from the very walls of the house, a house that had no name and no address, existing in a timeless...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant ClueThe Great Hall of Blackwood Keep did not smell of wine or roasted boar, as the histories claimed it should, but of damp wool, old stone, and the metallic tang of fear that had settled into the grout over centuries. Sir Aldric Thorne stood at the edge of the dais, his hand resting lightly on the hilt of his sword, his fingers white-knuckled against the leather wrap. He was a man of the court,...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Golden MirrorThe feast was not one of food, but of silence, a heavy, suffocating blanket that settled over the grand ballroom of the Ashworth Estate like a shroud. You stood in the corner, your tuxedo fitting too tightly across the shoulders, the fabric straining against the muscles that had long since forgotten how to relax. The crystal chandeliers above cast a prismatic glare, fracturing the light into a...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Faded ShieldYou stand at the edge of the quarry, where the water is black and still as a held breath. The air tastes of iron and old rain. You are not alone, but you are alone. Around you, the men of the 4th Guard stand in a loose semicircle, their faces gray with ash and exhaustion. They look at you. You look at the water. The mist rises from the surface, curling like smoke from a extinguished candle,...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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