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The Pale MeridianThe glass in my left hand had begun to sing, a high, thin note that vibrated against the knuckles and traveled up into the bones of my wrist, a sound that was not quite auditory but rather a pressure behind the eyes, a warning that the air itself was thinning, that the fabric of the evening was unraveling at the seams where the candlelight touched the polished mahogany of the table where I sat...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Faded ShieldThe rain did not fall. It hung in the air, a suspended gray curtain that smelled of wet slate and old iron. Elias stood in the center of the hall, his boots heavy on the oak floorboards, while the water seeped through the cracked ceiling above him. It was a dream, or a memory, or perhaps a premonition so vivid it had calcified into fact. He was a man of the law, a sheriff in a town that no...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Golden SuspectThe collar sat high. Too high. It pressed against the base of my neck, a constant, silent weight. I looked in the mirror. The glass was warped. My face looked small. Fractured. I wore the blue wool. It was my father’s. The fabric was thin. Worn soft by years of use. By his hands. By my hands now. I had not washed it. It smelled of dust. Of old tobacco. Of something else. Something dark. I...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Pale DoorThe sky broke open. It was not rain. It was ash. Fine, white particulate matter. It fell upon the city of Aethelgard like a burial shroud. You stood on the battlements. The wind tasted of sulfur and old iron. Your armor was dented. Your sword was notched. You were the last of the High Guard. The others were gone. Swallowed by the earth or the air. You looked down. The streets below were empty....0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Golden MasterThe bone in Will’s hand was not his. It was old, dry as driftwood, and it fit the socket of his wrist with a terrible, magnetic precision. He held it up to the grey light filtering through the high windows of the Hall. It was a radius. A small, curved sliver of calcium. It should have been there. It had been missing for three days. Since the fall. Since the silence that followed the fall. Will...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Faded ChronicleThe rain did not fall; it hung in the air, a thick, gray curtain that smelled of wet slate and old iron. Inside the house, the silence was not empty but heavy, a physical weight that pressed against the eardrums. Margot stood in the center of the dining room, her hands trembling so violently she could barely hold the silver tray. On it lay a single bowl of soup, the steam rising in thin,...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful VoyageThe bell did not ring. It screamed. A sound like tearing metal filled the small, stone-walled room. Elara flinched. The air tasted of copper and old dust. She was not alone. Across the rough-hewn table sat Thomas. He was a man of hands. Thick knuckles. Calloused palms. A jeweler. But today, he was a prisoner. The guards stood by the door. They wore black leather. Their eyes were empty. The...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Pale AltarThe air in the cellar of the Whitmore estate did not smell of damp or rot, but of ozone and crushed violets. It was a scent that had no business existing in the dark, beneath the cobblestones of a city that had long since forgotten the name of the man who built the house. Elias sat on the cold stone floor, his knees drawn to his chest, watching the ferns. They were not ordinary ferns. Their...0 Comments 0 Shares 4 Views 0 Reviews
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The Golden CellarThe hand was wrong. It was too big. Or perhaps her fingers were too small. They had shrunk in the cold, or maybe they had always been wrong for the work. Margaret held the iron bar, the one that kept the cellar door shut, and felt the metal bite into her palm. It was a familiar pain. The kind that lived in the marrow. "Let go," Thomas said. He did not shout. He never shouted. He stood in the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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