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The Faded ChronicleThe mirror in the dressing room was cracked, a spiderweb of fractures radiating out from the center where a small, dark shard had been pried loose, and I kept staring at it, at the way the light caught the jagged edges, until the reflection of my face seemed to shatter along with the glass. I didn't move. I didn't blink. I just stood there, wearing the dress that cost more than my father earned...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful MirrorThe rain hits the shield with a sound like tearing silk. You are wet to the bone. The cold is not merely a temperature. It is a weight. A physical thing pressing against your ribs. You raise your arm. The metal groans. The thing before you does not bleed. It has no face. It is a void in the shape of a man. It reaches for you. You strike back. Your sword is a stick of iron. It feels heavy. It...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful SagaThe rain hit the pavement in sheets. It was cold. It was wet. It was relentless. Tom stood by the window. He was seven years old. He held a glass vial. Inside the vial was a single drop of ink. It was black. It was viscous. It swirled slowly. The drop did not mix. It remained distinct. It was a perfect sphere. Tom watched the drop. He breathed. The air in the apartment was thin. It smelled of...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Golden HarborThe ice cracked. Not the thin skin of a pond. The deep, dark water of the harbor. It split with a sound like a bone breaking. I heard it from the balcony. I was holding a glass of wine. The wine was red. It looked like blood. The feast was loud. They laughed. They clinked glasses. They did not hear the water break. I did not care about the water. I cared about the mirror. The mirror stood in...0 Comments 0 Shares 3 Views 0 Reviews
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The Pale ShadowsThe road was a rib of white stone. It cut through the dark. Rain fell. It did not stop. It never stopped in this valley. Thomas walked. His boots were heavy. They were filled with mud. The mud was cold. It seeped through the leather. It touched his skin. He felt the chill. It bit deep. He carried a sword. The hilt was worn. The steel was dull. He did not clean it. He had no time. He had no...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful MirrorThe road was a vein of black mud, pulsing with the rain. Thomas walked. His feet were numb. The rain did not fall; it stood, a grey curtain that blurred the horizon into a wall of fog. He carried a staff of ash wood. It was slick. It was cold. Behind him, the world had ended. Or perhaps it had only changed. The villages were silent. The fields were grey. The sky was a bruise that would not...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful AtlasYou arrive in the city of Oakhaven not with the triumphant stride of a conqueror, but with the weary, deliberate gait of a man who has already lost the war in his mind, carrying with you a satchel that weighs more than the leather and brass alone should allow, for it is filled with the heavy, silent judgment of the Guild of Cartographers, a body that has decided that your life’s work, your...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Faded GuestThe iron gate is already broken when you arrive, splintered against the mossy cobblestones like the ribcage of a fallen stag, and you stand there in the rain, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps, knowing that the beast you have been chasing for three days is no longer ahead of you, but behind you, waiting in the shadows of the archway. You are twelve years old, though the fever has made...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful SilenceThe bell in the tower did not ring for the dawn, nor did it toll for the midday heat, but it kept a steady, rhythmic heartbeat that I could feel in the marrow of my bones, a low thrumming vibration that seemed to originate not from the stone above but from the earth beneath the cobblestones, and it was this persistent, inescapable sound that first drew me to the window of my small, damp room in...0 Comments 0 Shares 4 Views 0 Reviews
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