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The Wistful ThroneThe mist did not merely settle upon the valley of Aethelgard; it inhabited the stones, the rotting timber of the watchtowers, and the very marrow of the men who stood upon the ramparts, a thick, gray breath that tasted of iron and forgotten centuries. It was a time when the boundary between the waking world and the spectral had eroded into a soft, permeable membrane, and the air hummed with a...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
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The Golden SuspectThe bell above the door did not ring; it groaned, a low, wooden moan that seemed to vibrate in the teeth of every man present. I stood at the counter, my hands still stained with the amber residue of varnish, watching the dust motes dance in the shaft of afternoon light that pierced the gloom of the apothecary’s back room. "You are the one," a voice said from the shadows. It was not a question....0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
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The Pale MeridianThe train cut through the grey morning. It moved with a heavy, rhythmic thud. The wheels screamed against the iron rails. Margaret Holloway sat by the window. Her reflection stared back. It was pale. It was thin. She held a leather-bound book in her lap. The spine was cracked. The pages were stained with old coffee. She did not open it. She only held it. It was a talisman. It was a shield....0 Comments 0 Shares 3 Views 0 Reviews
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The Faded ChronicleThe fever did not arrive with the sharp, violent intrusion of a blade, but rather it seeped into the marrow of Thomas Bradshaw like waterlogged timber into the foundations of an old stone house, a slow and insidious rot that began in the dreams he could no longer distinguish from the waking world. He lay in the narrow, windowless chamber of the abbey’s lower crypt, the air thick with the scent...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
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The Faded DustI dreamed of the bone. Not a skeleton. Just the radius. White. Smooth. It hung in the dark, spinning slowly. I reached for it. My hand passed through. I woke up cold. The sheets were damp. My left knee throbbed. Old injury. The weather is coming. I know by the ache. I know by the way the light hits the dust motes. They dance. They do not care. I put on my boots. Leather. Stiff. They smell of...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful GridYou sit at the edge of the mahogany desk in the administrative wing, the surface cool and polished under the sterile, humming light of the fluorescent tubes that have buzzed without interruption for the past six hours, a sound that has slowly ceased to be a sound and has become a texture, a fine-grained static that coats the back of your throat and settles in the hollows of your ears. The air...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
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The Faded ShieldThe rain had not stopped for three days, turning the cobblestones of the high courtyard into a mirror that reflected the weeping sky and the jagged, hungry stones of the keep. Thomas stood by the iron-bound door, his fingers digging into the rough wool of his tunic, his knuckles white not from cold, but from the sheer, crushing weight of the silence that hung in the air. He was twelve years...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
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The Golden MirrorYou are breaking the glass. Your hands, thick-knuckled and stained with the black grease of the old machine, are trembling, not from fear, but from the sheer, violent effort of the task. The mirror is large, a rectangular slab of silvered glass that hangs in the center of the workshop like a suspended wound. It is cracked now, a web of fractures radiating from the point where your hammer...0 Comments 0 Shares 8 Views 0 Reviews
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The Pale ShadowsThe rain had not stopped for three days, a relentless, weeping gray curtain that turned the cobblestones of the old town into a slick, black mirror reflecting the gaslight and the sorrow of the sky above, and I walked with the weight of my purpose pressing down on my shoulders like a physical thing, a leaden cloak I had chosen to wear long before the journey began, carrying within my coat,...0 Comments 0 Shares 8 Views 0 Reviews
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