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The Golden OathThe rain in Harrow’s Bend had a particular weight to it, the kind that seeped into the marrow and stayed there long after the clouds broke. You had been walking for three hours, your boots heavy with mud, your breath a thin white ribbon against the grey sky. The town lay ahead, a cluster of stone and slate huddled against the hillside, its lights flickering like dying embers in the early...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant ClueThe rain in London does not fall so much as it is pressed down by the weight of the sky, a cold, grey paste that clings to your coat and seeps into the marrow of your bones, turning the cobblestones of Whitechapel into slick, black mirrors that reflect nothing but the hollows of your own eyes. You are walking, you are always walking, your left boot slipping slightly on the wet slate as you...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Faded RoadThe soup was cold, a thick, grey sludge of turnip and bone that sat in the center of the table like a stagnant pond. Margaret stared at it, her spoon hovering above the surface, trembling not from the chill of the room but from a tension that had lived in her jaw for three days. Across the table, her sister Elise was already eating, the rhythmic crunch of the bread against her teeth sounding...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant CrownThe wind tastes of iron and old blood. You feel it on your teeth. You are walking. The road is black slate. It cracks under your boots. You do not look back. Behind you, the gate of the White Keep is closed. It is a door of white stone. It is smooth. It is cold. You left your name at the gate. You left your rank. You left your sword. You are no one. Your hands are empty. They hang at your...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Pale BridgeThe sky cracked. It did not break like glass. It tore. A jagged fissure of white light split the horizon above the moor. Rain began to fall. It was not water. It was ash. Fine, grey, warm ash. It settled on the coat of Thomas Bradshaw. He did not move. He stood in the center of the path. The path was gone. Where the gravel had been, there was only void. A pale, endless bridge stretched out into...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant LegendThe clock ticked. It was loud. Too loud. I sat in the dark. The house was cold. The air smelled of dust and old wood. I held the pocket watch in my left hand. It was warm. It should not have been warm. I had not touched it in days. It sat on the shelf. I knew it sat on the shelf. My hand was empty. But I felt the weight. I felt the gold case. I felt the chain. I am a watchmaker. I fix time. I...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful WitnessThe wool has worn thin on your left shoulder. You feel the cold there. It is a constant, dull ache. A hole in the fabric of your days. You are not a man. You are not a woman. You are the keeper of the hearth. You are the shape that lives in the corner. You are the thing that knows the weight of every word spoken in the hall. The castle is old. Stone bites into the earth. Rain slicks the gray...0 Comments 0 Shares 4 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful AtlasI woke in the bread. Not on the table. Not near the oven. I was inside the dough. The air was thick, warm, and sour. It tasted of yeast and old iron. My skin was sticky. I could not move my arms. The darkness was heavy. It pressed against my eyes. I knew where I was. I had been here before. Or perhaps I would be here again. Time does not move in a line here. It moves in circles. It moves in...0 Comments 0 Shares 6 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant PromiseThe ink on the ledger was black. It was also dry. Elias stared at the page. The paper smelled of vinegar and old rain. He held his breath. The room was cold. It was the kind of cold that lives in the bones. It was the cold of the stone walls. It was the cold of the iron grates. The chandelier above him swung. It swung on a chain of brass. It was a heavy thing. It was a beautiful thing. It was a...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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