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The Wistful VoyageThe air in the Grand Hall of the Ministry of Interior did not smell of the sea, nor of the damp earth of the countryside, but of a sterile, metallic chill that seemed to seep through the soles of one’s boots and settle in the marrow of the bones, a sensation that Captain Elias Thorne had long since learned to equate with the slow, invisible erosion of one’s own soul. He stood before the dais,...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Golden SongThe rain in Harrow Creek did not fall so much as it hung, a grey, persistent mist that clung to the wool of your coat and seeped into the bones of the old station building where you had been waiting for three hours. You were not waiting for a train. You were waiting for the truth, though you knew, with the cold clarity of a man who has spent too long in a place he does not belong, that the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Faded GuestThe road to Harrowgate was a ribbon of mud that swallowed the wheels of the cart. Elias pulled the reins tight. The horses, thin and trembling in the gray mist, dug their hooves into the earth. He was a prisoner of his own body. A cage of bone and sinew that carried him toward the village. The weight in his chest was not just hunger. It was the accumulated debt of a life spent in silence. He...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Golden EchoesThe rain hits the tin roof like gravel. You count the drops. One. Two. Three. The rhythm is broken. A splinter of wood snaps in the hearth. You stare at the black pot. It bubbles. It does not boil. The smell is thick. It is the smell of old pennies and rotting apples. You hate it. You hate the hunger in your belly more. You are a soldier. You know how to hold a rifle. You do not know how to...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Pale BridgeThe rain fell in sheets of iron. It hammered the cobblestones of Millhaven, turning the street into a churning brown river. I stood in the center of it, my coat soaked through, my boots heavy with mud. The whistle of the factory sirens wailed in the distance, a sharp, piercing cry that cut through the downpour. I did not run. I did not hide. I waited for the shadow to come. My name is Silas...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful AsylumThe glass was already broken. You knew it before you touched it. The shard lay on the floorboards of the hallway, catching the afternoon light like a frozen tear. It was a piece of the mirror that had hung above the washbasin in the east wing. The mirror that held your face. The mirror that held the truth. You are not what you think you are. The house breathes around you. It is an old house,...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful CrossroadsThe holly tree was dying. I saw it first in the roots. The bark was gray. It looked like old skin. I knelt in the mud. My knees hurt. I am a scholar of herbs. I know what is right. I know what is true. The Court does not care. The Court only wants gold. And power. And silence. My brother, Elias, is gone. He was taken three nights ago. They said he stole. He did not steal. He was kind. He loved...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful GridThe rain did not fall so much as it was exhaled by the city, a slow, gray sigh that settled into the crevices of the ancient stones and the hollows of your armor, turning the iron into a cold, heavy skin that you wore not for protection, but for penance. You stand here, in the shadow of the Great Spire, a monument to a god who has long since forgotten the names of his worshippers, and you feel...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Faded RuinThe rain smells like iron. Like blood left too long in the basin. You step off the cart. Your boots sink into the mud of the yard. The house looms. It is a carcass of stone and timber, rotting from the inside out. The walls are high. The windows are black eyes. You are here for the audit. Or so you think. Or so they told you. You are Thomas. You wear the grey coat. The coat is heavy. It is...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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