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The Faded PhotographThe coat was blue, a deep, bruised indigo that had once been vibrant but was now faded to the color of old denim, and it hung on the hook by the front door of the apartment building on 4th Street, a structure that leaned slightly to the left as if it were tired of holding itself up against the relentless gray sky of the city. Elias Thorne stood on the sidewalk, his hands shoved deep into the...0 Comments 0 Shares 4 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful ShowThe sky above Oakhaven did not fall. It shattered. It happened at dawn, while the fog still clung to the valley floor like a burial shroud. You were walking to the mill. Your boots were wet. The mud was cold against your ankles. You stopped. You looked up. The blue of the morning did not fade. It cracked. Thin lines of white light spread across the heavens. Then, pieces of the air began to...0 Comments 0 Shares 4 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful AshesThe bone was in my hand. It was dry. It was white. I held it tight against my chest. The air in the cell smelled of damp stone and old fear. I was the Warden’s hand. I was the shield. I was the wall. But the wall was cracking. I looked at my fingers. They were red. They were raw. The bone did not bleed. It never bled. It just watched. It saw me. It knew me. I stood up. My legs shook. The chains...0 Comments 0 Shares 5 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful IncenseThe sky splits open. Not with thunder. With light. It is a light that has no source. It burns without heat. You look up. Your neck aches. You have looked up so many times before. Now the looking changes you. The village is gone. The fields are gone. Only the square remains. The stone square. The cobblestones. They are still there. But the air above them is different. It is thick. It is liquid....0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant AffairThe feast hall of Aethelgard did not smell of roasting boar or spiced wine, as one might expect of a gathering of the realm’s most learned men. It smelled of ozone and wet stone, a metallic tang that clung to the back of the throat and settled in the lungs like ash. Marguerite sat at the far end of the long oak table, her hands folded neatly in her lap, her fingers pale and still against the...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Pale DanceThe bus groans as it climbs the wet gravel road, the suspension screaming a low, rhythmic complaint that vibrates through the soles of your boots. You sit in the back, near the emergency exit, where the air is thinnest and the smell of damp wool and diesel is strongest. Outside, the landscape is a smear of grey and brown, the trees stripped bare by the winter wind, their branches clawing at the...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Pale ExileThe door closed with a finality that cracked the silence of the room. Margaret stood by the window. The glass was cold. Her breath fogged it. She wiped it away. The street below was empty. The fog rolled in from the river. It swallowed the lamps. It swallowed the world. She turned to the chair. It was the only thing in the room that mattered. Mahogany. Carved. Worn. The arms were smooth as...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
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The Golden SongThe banquet hall of the King’s new court, a sprawling edifice of cold stone and stained glass that smelled of beeswax, damp wool, and the metallic tang of impending judgment, hummed with a low, electric dread that you felt vibrating in your teeth before it reached your ears. You sat at the long oak table, your hands folded in your lap, feeling the weight of the velvet sleeve against your wrists...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant ThresholdThe air in the Hall of Echoes did not smell of dust, as one might expect in a place where time had pooled and stagnated. It smelled of ozone and wet stone, a sharp, electric tang that pricked the nostrils of Elara Vane. She stood alone in the center of the vast, circular chamber, her boots sinking slightly into the floor, which was not stone but a dense, black clay that shimmered with a faint,...0 Comments 0 Shares 3 Views 0 Reviews
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