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The Golden GreenhouseThe fire started in the vents of the municipal archives, a sudden, violent exhalation of smoke that turned the grey afternoon sky into a bruised purple, and you stood on the sidewalk in your ill-fitting suit, watching the building that held your entire history collapse into ash and memory, realizing with a detached, clinical horror that you had not been arrested for the theft of the ledgers,...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Pale CircusThe dream began with the taste of rust. It was a thick, metallic tang that coated the back of Caelan’s throat. He woke on a floor of cold slate. The air smelled of ozone and old blood. He was not in his bed. He was not in London. He sat up. His uniform was intact. The tunic was blue, stiff with sweat and dust. The brass buttons were warm. He checked his belt. The sword was there. The leather...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful PetalThe fog did not roll in so much as it arrived, a thick, grey curtain that smelled of sulfur and old pennies, swallowing the iron spires of the city and the cobblestones beneath my feet. I stood at the edge of the platform, my hand resting on the cold railing, feeling the vibration of the underground machinery humming through the soles of my boots. I was waiting for the train, but I was also...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant CartographThe ink was still wet when I woke. It smelled of iron and rain. I sat up in the chair by the window, my bones aching with a deep, rhythmic thud, as if my own heart were a hammer striking an anvil inside my chest. The city outside was gray. Not the clean gray of snow, but the dirty, bruised gray of wet asphalt and tired stone. Chicago. Or maybe it was London. It didn’t matter. The skyline was a...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful AsylumThe sky split open like a rotten peach. It did not rain. It bled. Thick, violet sludge poured from the clouds, staining the cobblestones of the village square. We stood in the square. There were many of us. They all wore the same grey coats. We all held our hands up. Margaret looked at me. Her eyes were wide. Her lips were blue. "Do you see it?" she whispered. I did not look at the sky. I...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Faded DustThe coat was the only thing that felt real, a heavy, charcoal wool thing that had belonged to Arthur before the world turned to static and silence. It was a large garment, too big for Elias, so he wore it open, letting the rough fabric drag against his shins like the hem of a tattered banner. In this place, where the sky was the color of bruised plums and the ground was a mosaic of shattered...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Faded ParadoxThe rain did not fall so much as it was delivered, a heavy, indifferent curtain of grey water that blurred the edges of the world until the horizon simply ceased to exist. Elias sat in the back of the sedan, the leather seat damp against his spine, his wrists bound by the rough nylon of a zip tie that cut into the skin with every slight tremor of the car. He was a prisoner, though not in the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant AffairThe rain did not fall so much as it hung in the air, a grey and weeping veil that turned the heather into a bruised and sodden mass of purple and black, while Elspeth walked with her back to the world, carrying upon her shoulders the weight of a sack that seemed to grow heavier with every step, not because of what it contained, which was only a few pounds of dried turnip and a bundle of rags,...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Faded PortraitThe rain had not stopped for three days, a relentless, grey weeping that turned the cobblestones of the old city into a slick, mirror-like expanse where the gaslights flickered and died, leaving you to navigate the narrow, winding streets by the feel of the wet stone under your boots and the distant, hollow toll of the cathedral bells which marked time not for the living, but for the memory of...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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