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The Distant BladeYou sit alone. The candle gutters. The wind howls. It is cold. You are a scholar. You know words. You know history. You know the weight of old things. But tonight, the weight is in your chest. You are in a hall. Stone walls. High ceilings. Shadows stretch long. You are not at home. You are in the court of the King. The King is far away. He is in the war. The war is bad. The violence is loud....0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful MirrorThe fire does not roar. It sighs, a dry, rattling exhalation that eats the timber of the old manor house until the very bones of the structure are exposed to the night air. You stand in the courtyard, the heat pressing against your face like a physical weight, and you watch the roof collapse in slow, heavy folds. The stars above are indifferent, cold pinpricks in the black velvet of the sky,...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful MirrorThe glass did not reflect; it absorbed. This was the first thing Elias Vane noticed when he hauled the massive pane out of the crate in the center of the moor, the wind tearing at his coat like a hungry dog. It was a slab of obsidian so dark it seemed to pull the gray light of the afternoon into its depths, swallowing the horizon behind it. He had bought it from an estate in Prague, a relic of...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Golden SuspectThe rain did not fall so much as it descended, a heavy, grey curtain that blurred the boundary between the cobblestones of the Old Quarter and the mist rising from the river. You were walking, you always were walking, your boots heavy with the mud of a city that had forgotten how to dry. In your left hand, clutched tight against the damp wool of your coat, you held the medallion. It was small,...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Faded GuestThe glass broke. Not with a sound. With a shudder. Silas watched the reflection shatter. Pieces of his face floated in the air. Eyes. Nose. Mouth. They hung like suspended dust. He did not scream. He reached out. His fingers brushed the void. Cold. So cold. The shop smelled of beeswax and old dust. The clock ticked. One. Two. Silas was a mirror maker. The best in the valley. Or so he thought....0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful DinnerYou are not in your bed. You are standing in a room made of fog. The walls breathe. They expand and contract with a slow, rhythmic heave, like the lungs of a sleeping giant. The air is thick, tasting of copper and old rain. You are wearing your uniform. The fabric is wet. It clings to your shoulders, heavy with a dampness that has no source. You look down at your hands. They are steady. They...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Faded FrequencyThe rain in the Hollow does not fall so much as it exists, a persistent, grey mist that seeps into the marrow and stays there. I have been walking for three days, or perhaps three weeks. Time has lost its linear pull here, stretching like taffy, thin and translucent. My boots are heavy, soaked through with a water that feels colder than it has any right to be. I am a sergeant in the 4th...0 Comments 0 Shares 3 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful CipherThe ink was dry. That was the thing that haunted me. Not the blood, not the sweat, but the ink. It sat on the page of my notebook, a black scar against the yellowing paper, waiting to be read by someone who didn’t know I was dead yet. I sat in the back of the train, watching the English countryside smear past the glass in streaks of grey and brown. The year was 1908. The air in the carriage...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Golden ScarThe bell did not ring. It screamed. A sound of tearing metal that shattered the silence of the High Hall. Margaret dropped her ladle. The soup splattered across the stone floor, hot and smelling of thyme and rot. She did not look up. She looked at the wall. The wall was breathing. The stone ribs expanded, contracted. Then the ceiling peeled back like the skin of an overripe fruit. Light poured...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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