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The Wistful AsylumI dreamt of soup. It was thick, brown, and smelled of iron and wet wool. It filled the room, rising from a pot that had no bottom, spilling over the floorboards until it reached my ankles. I woke to the smell of coal dust and the taste of blood in my mouth. The steam from the radiator hissed like a dying man. "You are late, Corporal." I turned. Sergeant Miller stood by the window. His uniform...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Golden ScarThe rain had not stopped for three days, turning the cobblestones of Oakhaven into a slick, black mirror that reflected the gray sky. Sergeant Elias Thorne stood at the edge of the militia watchtower, his hands wrapped around a ceramic cup of chicory coffee that had long since gone cold. He did not drink it. He simply held the weight of it, the way a man holds a rope to keep from falling into a...0 Comments 0 Shares 4 Views 0 Reviews
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The Pale VerdictI woke with the taste of iron and old wool in my mouth, the air in my studio thick with the scent of beeswax and the sharp, metallic tang of fear. It was a dream, but one that had the weight of stone, where the walls of my shop in the narrow, rain-slicked streets of London were breathing, expanding and contracting like the lungs of a dying beast. In the dream, the garments I had stitched for...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful CampusThe rain did not fall. It hung in the air, a suspension of grey mist that clung to the windows of the Ashworth estate. Inside, the house breathed. The pipes groaned with a low, industrial hum, a sound that Thomas had come to know as well as his own pulse. He stood in the center of the library, holding a glass vial filled with a liquid that shimmered like liquid mercury. It was cold to the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Golden ScarThe rain hit the window glass with a rhythm that sounded like teeth clicking. Margaret Holloway sat at her desk. The fluorescent light hummed. It was a low, sick sound. It lived in her molars. She typed. Her fingers moved. They did not stop. They never stopped. The screen glowed. It was the only warm thing in the room. She was a data entry clerk. Level four. Sector nine. The city was a grid of...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Faded Dust"You need to stop talking about the nutrient density," you say, your voice sounding hollow inside the concrete throat of the holding cell, "and start talking about the protocol, because if you don’t, I will initiate a formal complaint against the medical liaison for gross negligence regarding the integrity of the meal preparation, and I want you to know that I have already drafted the language...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful SkylineThe train was already moving when Elias noticed the dust, a fine, rust-colored powder that settled on the windowsill of the third-carriage seat where he had tucked himself away, his knees drawn up to his chest, his fingers stained with the same reddish grit that coated the floorboards. He was twelve years old, though he felt older, older than the clothes hanging loose on his frame, older than...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Faded BouquetThe iron gate of St. Jude’s Orphanage did not creak, but it screamed, a high-pitched shriek of rusted metal that tore through the silence of the night like a wound in the air. I was running, my breath coming in ragged gasps that tasted of copper and cold ash, my fingers locked around the handle of the heavy oak door that separated the sanctuary from the abyss. Behind me, the shadows were not...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Pale VerdictThe feast is loud. It is too loud. The noise hits you in the chest. You are sitting at the long table. The table is oak. It is old. It is dark. The candles burn low. The wax drips. It looks like blood. It looks like tears. You do not care. You are cold. You are so cold. Your sister, Elara, sits across from you. She is beautiful. She is bright. She is alive. She is eating. She laughs. The sound...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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