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The Wistful CrossroadsThe iron broke. It did not snap with a sound. It simply ceased to hold. Caleb stood in the white void. The floor was not stone. It was mist. Thick and cold. It swirled around his ankles. He looked down. His hands were bare. The chain was gone. Or rather, the chain was him. The links were fused to his skin. They were his bones now. He was the Warden. He was the Wall. The Order had built him....0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful CipherThe rain did not fall so much as it hung, a grey veil over the foundry district of Leeds. Thomas Hale stood at the window of his office, watching the water streak the glass. He was a man of middling years, with hands that shook when he held a pen and eyes that had learned to look through people rather than at them. The air in the room smelled of wet wool and old paper. On his desk lay a single...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant WhispersThe bell rang once. It did not ring twice. In the Hall of Echoes, a single toll was enough to freeze the blood in the veins of every servant standing in the long, dim corridor. Margaret stood by the wall. She held a silver tray. On the tray sat a single glass. It was empty. It was waiting. The King was dying. This was not a secret. The air in the palace smelled of damp stone and rotting lilies....0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant ThresholdThe bell above the door did not ring. It hung there, silent, a brass tongue frozen in a throat of silence. I stood at the counter of the shop, my hands resting on the polished wood. The grain was dark, mahogany, imported from a ship that had long since rotted in the bottom of the Atlantic. It was beautiful. It was heavy. It was mine. The air in the shop was thick. Dust motes danced in the...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
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The Golden QuestThe bread was good. That was the first thing I told myself when the guards dragged me into the Great Hall. It was a thick, dense loaf, dark as a bruise, smelling of yeast and ash. I took a bite. It tasted like nothing. It tasted like the stone floor beneath my knees. I chewed slowly. My jaw ached. The aches were familiar. They had become my oldest friends, older than my mother, older than the...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful IncenseThe cellar was not dark, not truly, but it was a darkness that had weight, a heavy, damp thing that settled into the marrow of Thomas Ashworth’s bones. He sat on a bench of rough-hewn oak, his back against the stone wall, and watched the steam rise from the clay bowl in his hands. The air smelled of thyme, of wet earth, and of the sharp, medicinal bite of willow bark. It was a smell that...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant GardenThe coat hung on the hook by the door, a heavy, charcoal wool thing that smelled of damp earth and old tobacco, and I stood there for an hour, just breathing, because the air in the office had turned into something thick, like syrup cooling in a bowl, and I could not make my legs move to leave, even though every instinct in my body was screaming at me to run, to run until my lungs burned out...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful AsylumThe rain against the reinforced glass of the Observation Wing is a rhythmic, digital static, a high-frequency noise that your auditory cortex has begun to filter out, leaving only a dull, resonant hum in the base of your skull. You are sitting in the corner of the containment unit, your back against the cold, seamless plastic wall, watching the security feeds on the wall-mounted monitors. The...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
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The Faded PhotographYou are standing in the doorway of the church, your boots heavy with the wet clay of the graveyard, and the air tastes of iron and old incense, a scent that seems to cling to your skin like a second layer of flesh, and you realize with a slow, creeping dread that you have been dreaming of this moment for so long that the boundary between the sleep and the waking has dissolved into a single,...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
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