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The Golden VisitThe loom hums a low, continuous note in the center of the hall. It is a sound that has been there since before you were born, a vibration in the stone floor that you feel in your teeth more than your ears. You sit at the edge of the workbench, your fingers stained indigo and ochre, looking at the piece you have woven for the last six months. It is a shroud. Not for a corpse, but for a ghost....0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant GardenYou are walking because your legs are moving, and you are not entirely sure why, or if you are still alive in the way that requires a soul to do the walking. The road is a ribbon of pale dust stretching into a grey and featureless sky, and the air tastes of iron and wet wool, a flavor that has been stuck in your throat for so long it has become a part of your anatomy, a second tongue you cannot...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Pale AltarThe rain had been falling for three days, a steady, gray curtain that turned the parking lot of the District 9 precinct into a slick, black mirror. I stood at the edge of it, my boots heavy with mud that had dried in the cracks of the leather, and I watched the taillights of the squad cars bleed red into the wet asphalt. It was a Tuesday. It was always a Tuesday, or a Wednesday, or a Friday...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful WitnessThe rain fell in a steady, grey sheet over the ironworks, a curtain that seemed to be woven from the very smoke of the furnaces. It was the sort of weather that settled into the bones, a dampness that did not wash away but rather condensed, turning the air into a substance one had to push through with every breath. In the center of the yard, where the puddles reflected the dull orange glow of...0 Comments 0 Shares 10 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant GardenThe banquet hall of the Palace of Whispers did not smell of food, but of damp stone and the metallic tang of old blood, a scent that had permeated the very mortar of the walls over the centuries. Commander Elias Thorne sat at the head of the long table, his uniform pressed to a severity that seemed to cut the air around him, the gold braid on his epaulets catching the flickering light of the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Golden QuestThe watch sat on the table. It was a brass thing, heavy and cold, its face cracked like a dried riverbed. I stared at it, feeling the weight of it in my hands even though I had not touched it in years. "You know what it means, Elias," said Miller. He did not look at me. He looked at the window, where the rain was beginning to streak the glass with grey tears. "It means you are done. It means...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Golden MasterThe rain had not stopped for three days. It fell on the gravel road like grey dust, settling into the cracks, soaking into the boots of Elias Thorne. He walked. His back was heavy. The weight was not in his pack. It was in his spine. In his ribs. He carried a sentence. Twenty years. He was walking toward the old mill. The mill stood at the edge of the tree line. It was a building of stone and...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful SagaThe train shuddered into the station, a iron beast exhaling steam that tasted of rust and old coal. I stepped onto the platform, my lungs tightening against the chill. It was November. The kind of November that strips the world bare, leaving only the gray bones of the trees and the wet, heavy mud of the earth. I had come to Blackwood Manor to find a body. Or so I told myself. In truth, I had...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful IncenseThe incense bowl was cracked. It sat on the obsidian desk in the center of the War Room. A hairline fracture ran through the porcelain, splitting the glaze like a dried riverbed. Thomas held it in his hands. The ceramic was cold. It smelled of nothing. It had once held sandalwood. Now it held only dust. The room was vast and silent. The walls were lined with maps of the continent, pinned in...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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