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The Faded FrontierThe room smelled of wet wool and old paper. It was a feast. Not of food. Of words. Thomas sat in the corner. He held the bird. It was a thrush. Dead. Or nearly. Its wings were tucked tight. Its eyes were closed. The air in the hall was thick. Smoke from the pipes. Breath from the men. They were talking. Always talking. Edward stood at the center. He raised his glass. The crystal caught the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Golden OathThe first thing you notice about the willow is how it shivers, even when the wind holds its breath. It is a strange, rhythmic tremor, like a limb held up against a fever. I see it from the window of my office on the fourteenth floor, a sliver of green in the concrete canyon of Midtown. We are told that willows are resilient, that they bend so they do not break. But looking at it now, in the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Pale BannerI dreamt of the hem. It was long, white, and heavy. It dragged through the mud of the chapel yard, leaving a streak of red that looked like a vein cut open in the earth. I woke with the taste of iron in my mouth. The dormitory was silent, save for the tick of the clock on the wall and the soft breathing of my sister, Elara, in the next bed. She was asleep. Her face was pale, her hair unbound, a...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful LetterThe rain smells of iron. It is a cold, metallic tang that coats the back of your throat. You swallow it down. You are wet. You are always wet. The mud of the court is thick, sucking at your boots with a rhythmic, wet pull. *Thwup. Thwup.* It sounds like a heart beating under the floorboards. You look up. The tower is black against the gray sky. The windows are slit-like, watching you. You feel...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful Skyline"You are late again," said the man in the grey coat, his voice a flat line on a seismograph, unbothered by the tremors that shook the foundations of the room. "The calibration requires precision. If the signal degrades, the structure collapses. We do not have the bandwidth for your hesitation." I stood in the center of the circular chamber, the floor beneath me humming with a low-frequency...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Faded ApartmentYou are standing in the mud of the lower market square, the rain a cold, persistent drumming against the wide brim of your hat, and you are holding the coat, the heavy, woolen thing that smells of stale tobacco and the damp earth of the cellar where it was hidden, and you are trying to remember why you did this, why you stole it back, why you took it from the hands of the magistrate’s clerk who...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant Crown"Cut it out, lad," the voice said. It was wet. It was thick. It sounded like mud dragged across a stone. You do not look up. You keep your eyes on the seam of the earth. The dirt is cold. It is dark. It smells of iron and old blood. You know this smell. You know it in your bones. You are a thing of the dirt. A shadow with a name. Thomas. Or maybe not Thomas. Names are for the living. For those...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Faded QuadrantThe bell rang. It did not chime. It screamed. A jagged, iron sound that split the morning air above the Abbey of St. Jude. Thomas stood at the loom. His hands were still. The shuttle lay in the trough, dark as a beetle. He had been working for nine years. Nine years of wool, dye, and silence. He was the Master Weaver. The title meant nothing. It meant he owned the loom. It meant he paid the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful SilenceI dreamed of the gate. It stood alone in the gray mist, a skeleton of iron. The paint was peeling. Flakes of red rust drifted down like ash. I reached for the handle. It was cold. I turned it. It did not open. I pushed. It held. I was locked out. Or perhaps I was locked in. The distinction felt academic. The air smelled of wet stone and old blood. I woke with the taste of iron on my tongue. The...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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