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The Distant WhispersThe road was mud. It was deep, cold, and smelling of rot. Thomas walked. His boots sank. He pulled them free. He walked on. The castle loomed. It was grey stone. It stood against the sky. The sky was white. It was not day. It was not night. It was the time between. Thomas was a knight. He wore silver. The silver was dented. He carried a sword. The blade was dull. He carried a jar. The jar was...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful SilenceThe rain hit the slate roof of the chapel with a sound like gravel. It was a cold, thin rain. It seeped into the stone walls. It found the cracks. It whispered in the dark. Thomas sat on the floor. He was twelve years old. His knees were bruised. He pressed his hands against the cold stone. The stone did not care. He waited. The door opened. The sound was heavy. Wood on wood. A groan of old...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Faded PhotographThe fog that settled over the Ironworks in late October did not behave like ordinary weather; it was a living, breathing entity, a grey membrane that pressed against the windowpanes of the foreman’s office as if seeking entry, or perhaps seeking to smother the truth within. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of machine oil and damp wool, a heavy, industrial atmosphere that clung to the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Golden QuestThe coal chute collapses. It is a Tuesday. Rain slicks the cobblestones. The sky is the color of wet slate. You stand in the alley. The brickwork groans. Dust falls. It tastes of iron and rot. You are Thomas. You are a cobbler. Your hands are stained with wax and hide. You watch the wall fall. It does not fall on you. It falls on the shop next door. The shop of Mr. Abernathy. Abernathy is gone....0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Golden MazeThe iron gates of the City of Ashes did not creak; they screamed. It was a high, thin shriek that cut through the smog, a sound you felt in your teeth before you heard it with your ears. You stood before them, the boundary of the path you had walked for thirty years. The path was narrow, paved with cobblestones worn smooth by the feet of thousands who had come before, all seeking the same...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful CipherThe tremor began in the left hand, a fine, arrhythmic shiver that migrated up the ulnar nerve and settled in the base of the skull, a physiological glitch in the machinery of my days, a symptom I had learned to catalogue with the same detached precision I applied to the metallurgical assays of the foundry floor, where the iron cooled and contracted in the mold, and I stood there, the supervisor...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Pale VerdictThe bell of St. Jude’s did not ring so much as it thumped, a dull, bruised sound that seemed to originate from the earth itself rather than the iron tongue swinging above the steeple, and I stood in the shadow of the oak tree, my fingers tracing the rough, vertical fissures of the bark, feeling the cold seep through the leather of my gloves, knowing that the verdict had already been rendered...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful SagaThe ivy had climbed the wall of the asylum for the indigent and the insane, thick and dark as a bruise. I pressed my face against the cold glass of my cell window. Outside, the winter air was sharp, biting at my cheeks. Inside, the air was stale, heavy with the smell of boiled cabbage and old sweat. I was alone. I had been alone for a long time. The walls were high, white and peeling, like the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant JokeThe bell rang at four. It was a dull, muffled sound, like a hammer striking wet clay. I stopped writing. The ink in my pen was black, wet, and cold. It pooled on the page, a dark eye staring back at me. I looked at the object in my hand. A brass key. It was heavy. It felt warm, as if it had been held by someone who had just run up the stairs. I had not touched it in years. Not since the fire. I...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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