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The Golden MirrorI woke with the taste of iron and wet stone in my mouth, a sensation that was so visceral and immediate that it took me a long, trembling moment to realize I was not lying in the mud of the battlefield where I had fallen, but rather on the cold, slate floor of my own study, surrounded by the towering, silent shelves of books that I had spent forty years curating, organizing, and ultimately...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful Incense"You broke it," said the Warden. The voice was wet. It tasted of iron and stale bread. You look down. Your hands are trembling. They are not empty. They hold shards. Glass. Blue glass. It is not a vase. It is not a cup. It is a locket. Or a pendant. It was once whole. Now it is a mouth. Screaming. Silent. "Seize it," the Warden says. He does not move. His feet are rooted in the mud. The mud is...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Pale CircusThe rain had not stopped for three days, a relentless, gray curtain that blurred the world into a smear of wet stone and mud. I sat in the corner of the garrison’s common room, the heavy oak table before me stained with old wine and newer blood, my hands resting on the hilt of my sword. It was a simple blade, forged in the highlands, but to me, it felt like an extension of my own nervous...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant CrownThe stone beneath your boots is cold, a deep, arterial chill that seeps up through the soles of your boots and settles into the marrow of your legs, a reminder that this place, this vast and echoing cathedral of power, does not belong to you, not truly, for it is built on the bones of those who came before and the silence of those who will come after. You stand at the edge of the great hall,...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant CrownThe rain in Seattle did not fall; it hovered, a grey curtain drawn tight against the windows of the old apartment, blurring the city into a smear of sodium lights and wet asphalt. Elias stood by the window, his hand pressed against the cold glass, watching the water bead and run in frantic, weeping lines. He was thirty, though the hollows under his eyes suggested he had lived a century in a...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant JokeThe train groaned as it clawed its way up the jagged spine of the Appalachian ridge, a metallic beast dragging a chain of rusted and rain-slicked coaches through a twilight that had long since bled into the absolute black of a November night, while inside Car Four, Elias Thorne sat rigid against the window, his spine a column of vertebrae pressing against the cold glass, watching the trees blur...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Pale VerdictThe iron gauntlet rests upon your forearm, a cold and heavy presence that has grown so intimate over the last three days that you can no longer distinguish the weight of the steel from the weight of your own blood, a symbiotic extension of your flesh that hums with a low, electric frequency only you can perceive, a resonance that vibrates in the marrow of your bones and whispers of the...0 Comments 0 Shares 6 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful AsylumThe rain had not stopped for three days, a relentless, gray curtain that turned the streets of Chicago into a slick, reflective mirror where the neon signs of the city bled their colors into the wet asphalt, and I drove my sedan with the windows up, the wipers beating a frantic, metronomic rhythm against the glass, feeling the vibration of the engine through the steering wheel as a physical...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful SilenceThe banquet hall of the Iron Spire was not built for comfort, but for the projection of order, and it smelled of ozone, stale beer, and the metallic tang of fear that clung to the wool uniforms of the men who filled it. Captain Elias Thorne sat at the head of a long, scarred oak table, his hands resting flat on the wood, fingers splayed as if trying to anchor himself against the slow, tectonic...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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