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The Golden DowntownThe dream began not with light, but with the heavy, wet sound of a lock turning, a mechanical groan that echoed in the hollow space behind Elara’s eyes before she had even opened them to the waking world. It was a dream of the Old Court, that labyrinthine edifice of stone and silence that stood at the edge of the valley, a place where the laws of men were written in ink that never dried and...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant MetropolisThe road did not end; it simply forgot how to be a road and became a river of black mist that swallowed the wheels of the cart whole. Elara sat on the edge of the wooden crate, her fingers wrapped tight around a single, heavy brass button, its surface warm and humming with a low, subterranean vibration that she could feel in her teeth. It was a small thing, a piece of a coat she had worn for...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful CrossroadsThe iron buckle snaps with a sound like a bone breaking, and the leather strap flutters to the muddy ground as the executioner’s blade descends, yet you do not die. You stand in the square of Ashworth, the rain slicking your hair to your forehead, while the crowd roars a chorus of approval for the crime they have just committed. This is the fifth time. The fifth time you have worn the shackle,...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Pale FractureThe building did not have a name, only a designation, a string of alphanumeric codes etched into the slate facade in letters that seemed to shift and rearrange themselves when viewed from the corner of one’s eye, a structure that rose from the mist like a broken tooth or a jagged scar in the earth, and I stood before it with the heavy, iron taste of fear in my mouth, my hands trembling not from...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful ShowYou stand before the great glass doors of the Meridian Tower, your hand hovering over the brass handle that has been polished by ten thousand anxious palms, until the metal is smooth as a river stone. The air inside is cool, a sterile chill that bites at the skin, smelling of ozone and floor wax, a scent that has become so intimately woven into the fabric of your existence that you can no...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful VoyageThe morning air tasted of damp stone and stale beer. In the courtyard of the Blackwater Garrison, the mist clung to the cobblestones like a shroud, softening the sharp edges of the world. Thomas Bradshaw stood by the wooden gate, his hands gripping the rough grain of the oak until his knuckles turned white. He was not a large man, but he carried himself with the dense, quiet weight of a boulder...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Faded QuadrantYou are standing in the shadow of the Great Hall’s northern transept, where the stone floor, worn by the feet of kings and the scuttling of rats alike, has polished itself into a smooth, dark mirror that reflects not your face but the abyss beneath it, a void that seems to pull at the hem of your robe and the very marrow of your bones, forcing you to confront the terrible, architectural truth...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Golden CompassThe river did not flow so much as it was dragged, a slow, muscular heave of grey water pulling at the roots of the willows that leaned over the bank like old women gossiping about secrets they had kept for too long, and Elara stood at the edge of the water, her boots sinking into the mud, feeling the cold seep up through the soles and into the bones of her shins, a sensation that was not quite...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful DinnerYou wake with the taste of copper in your mouth and the weight of a woolen coat that is not yours on your back. The air in the cellar is thick, stale, and smells of damp earth and old paper. You are standing in the center of a circular room, the walls lined with shelves that stretch up into a darkness you cannot fathom. There are no windows. The only light comes from a single, flickering oil...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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