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The Distant TempleThe feast was loud. It smelled of roasted pork, stale ale, and the damp wool of too many bodies packed into the great hall of the manor. I stood by the hearth, holding a cup of wine that had turned to vinegar in my hand. The firelight danced, but it only made the shadows deeper. I watched them eat. I watched them laugh. They were fat and happy and blind. I am a thief. I am a liar. I am the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant GardenThe coat hung on the hook. It was red. Miles stood before it. His hands shook. He held the buttons. "Leave it," he said. The room was white. The floor was tile. The air smelled of bleach. He looked at the mirror. The glass was dark. He saw his face. It was old. The eyes were tired. He turned back to the coat. It was his wedding coat. He had worn it for ten years. He had worn it to the lecture...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Faded AlibiThe banquet hall smelled of roasted pheasant and floor wax. It was a scent that clung to the back of the throat. General Marcus Thorne sat at the head of the long mahogany table. His hands were still. They were always still. He was sixty-four. The mirror in the hall showed a man carved from stone and frost. He did not blink. The wine was red. It looked like blood on the white porcelain. He...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Pale MeridianThe coat was a charcoal grey wool, a heavy, dense thing that had once belonged to the world of men who did not have to count the change in their pockets, and it hung on the back of the plastic chair in the corner of the interrogation room, a dark, silent sentinel to a time when my name meant something other than a line item in a budget cut. I had worn it for three days straight, the fabric...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Faded GuestThe guard left the gate. The snow bit. He stood alone. The palace was a tomb of stone. Cold. Silent. The wind screamed through the cracks. It sounded like breath. It sounded like hunger. He was the keeper of the threshold. His name was Thomas. He did not remember his first name. He only knew his duty. The duty was simple. The door must never open. The dark must never leave. He held the key. It...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
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The Faded ParadoxThe banquet hall of St. Jude’s Correctional Facility for Juvenile Delinquents smelled of boiled cabbage and stale wine, a heavy, cloying scent that seemed to coat the back of my throat like a second skin, thick and unyielding, pressing against the air in a way that made it difficult to draw a full breath, let alone find the words necessary to articulate the quiet, devastating truth that had...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Golden CircuitThe ink was still wet on the page, a dark, viscous pool that refused to dry, mirroring the dampness of the cellar where Arthur Penhaligon sat with his hands trembling not from cold, but from the sheer, crushing weight of what he had just written. He had spent the last three days in this subterranean room, the air thick with the smell of coal dust and old paper, working on the final installment...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Faded AlibiThe iron gate of the Blackwood Asylum groaned against the gravel. It was a sound like a dying man’s last breath, heavy and wet. Captain Elias Thorne stood at the threshold. The fog clung to his boots. It clung to the brass buttons of his uniform. He did not shake it off. He held a small, rusted lantern. The glass was cracked. The light inside was a pale, sickly yellow. It barely pierced the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful MirrorThe frost bit at the iron bars of the greenhouse, a sharp, crystalline bite that you felt even through the thick wool of your coat. You stood there, breath pluming in the cold, watching the glass panes reflect your own face back at you, distorted and fragmented by the condensation. "You look like a ghost, love," said Elara. She was leaning against the doorframe, a cigarette hanging loosely from...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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