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The Golden FarceYou hold the locket. It is gold. It is warm. You do not remember where you found it. You do not remember your name. The road is mud. The sky is low and gray. You are walking north. The wind bites your ears. You pull your cloak tighter. The locket hangs against your chest. It does not feel like metal. It feels like a heart. A small, cold heart. You come to a bridge. The river below is black. It...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
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The Pale AltarThe dream was not a dream of flight, nor of falling, but of a door that opened onto a wall, a pale, unyielding expanse of stone that breathed with the cold dampness of the cellar where the books lay, and in that breathless moment, before the waking fully reclaimed his senses, he saw her, not as a woman of flesh and bone but as a smudge of grey mist hovering just above the floorboards, a ghost...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant SummerThe rain had stopped before I reached the gate. The mud was soft. It held my boots. I looked back at the village. Smoke rose from the chimneys. Thin. Grey. It mixed with the fog. The air smelled of wet stone. And old wood. I carried a sword. It was heavy. The steel was dark. It did not shine. I am a keeper of the peace. Or so they say. The law is a wall. I am the stone in it. But walls crumble....0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Pale TowerThe cellar smelled of damp wool and old stone, a scent that had seeped into the mortar so deeply that no amount of scrubbing could ever wash it out. I sat on the cold flagstones, my hands resting in my lap, watching the dust motes dance in the single shaft of light that pierced the gloom from the high, barred window above. It was not a place for a woman of my age, or perhaps of any age, but I...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant TempleThe rain had been falling for three days, a relentless, grey curtain that turned the mud of the valley road into a thick, sucking paste that chewed at the tires of our truck until they screamed in protest. We were heading up to the old mill, that derelict ghost of a place that had stood on the edge of the river since before my grandfather was born, and I was driving with my hands white-knuckled...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Pale GardenThe iron gate did not open; it shattered. That was the first thing I learned about the nature of our exile, and the second was that silence in the village of Oakhaven was not a lack of sound, but a heavy, suffocating blanket woven from centuries of unspoken fear. I stood amidst the splintered remains of the boundary, my hands still trembling with the effort of pushing through, the metal...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant JourneyThe steel bit your chest with a cold that seeped past bone into marrow. You did not scream. Screaming was a luxury for those who had not yet learned the geometry of pain. You were Captain Elias Thorne, and you were bleeding onto the marble floor of the High Hall, the red spreading like a dark ink stain across the pristine white stone. Around you, the air hummed with a low, vibrating tension, a...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful AsylumThe road is bad. It is red dirt. It is wet. Your boots are heavy. You walk. You do not stop. The sky is low. It is grey. It smells of rain and iron. You carry a sack. It is light. It is empty. You carry your name. It is heavy. It is yours. You are walking to the Gate. Everyone says the Gate is here. The locals point. They do not speak. They look at you. They look at the sky. They cross...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Faded Paradox"You have brought an impurity into the High Hall," the Archivist said, his voice low and steady as the grinding of millstones on the ancient limestone floor, his eyes fixed not on my face but on the small, clay bowl resting in the center of the oak table between us, a bowl filled with a thick, dark paste that smelled of crushed cloves, dried blood, and the damp, rotting sweetness of overripe...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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