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The Distant ThresholdThe iron gate of the Blackwood estate did not creak; it groaned, a low, tectonic sound that seemed to rise from the earth itself. Elias Thorne stood before it, his hands buried deep in the pockets of his wool overcoat, the fabric worn thin at the elbows. He was a man who had spent thirty years running from the weight of his own hands, and now, at the threshold of the house where he had once...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant NightmareThe bell rang. It was a dull, bronze sound that seemed to vibrate in my teeth. I stood in the center of the hall. The stone floor was cold. It bit into my boots. Around me, the air smelled of wet wool and old iron. I was the Captain. I wore the grey coat of the Order. My hands were steady. They had always been steady. I looked at the man in the corner. He was small. His shoulders were hunched....0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful MountainThe mortar hits the wall. Dust blooms like white powder. You do not flinch. You are standing in the cellar of the old library, the air thick with the smell of wet stone and old paper. Your hands are trembling. Not from fear. From the effort of holding still. You are holding the brick. It is warm. It is heavy. It is the only thing that feels real. You are a prisoner. Not of the enemy. Of your...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful ThroneThe pot of honey had been on the shelf for forty years, and it was beginning to crack. It was not a large jar, nor was it made of crystal or porcelain. It was a simple vessel of thick, green glass, the kind that used to hold preserves in the kitchens of the old manor houses before the wars and the winters took the orchards. The lid was rusted shut, a circle of orange decay against the pale wood...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful Show"You're fired, Ruth." The words hung in the air. Thin. Cold. Ruth did not blink. She stared at the man across the desk. He was tall. He wore a suit that cost more than her car. He looked at her like she was a stain. "Who said that?" she asked. Her voice was low. It did not shake. "I did," he said. He leaned back. He crossed his arms. "The board is unhappy. They say you’re... difficult....0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful Witness"Did you see it?" Elias didn’t look up. He kept his eyes on the mud. The rain had stopped, but the air was still heavy with the smell of wet clay and rot. "I saw it," he said. "Where?" "Here." Silence stretched between them. It was a cold silence, the kind that settles in the lungs when the wind drops. They stood at the edge of the valley. Below them, the forest was a dark, bruised thing. No...0 Comments 0 Shares 3 Views 0 Reviews
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The Pale BridgeThe iron was cold. It bit into my wrists with a hunger that felt older than the town, older than the stone walls that held the fog in a perpetual, bruised twilight. I did not scream. Screaming was for those who still believed in the mercy of sound. I was Elias Vane, and I had been bound to the scaffold for three days, not for murder, but for the crime of remembering. The air smelled of wet rot...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful DinnerYou wake in the hall of mirrors. The glass is cold. It bites. You are wet. Not with sweat. With rain. Old rain. The kind that smells of iron and rot. You look down. You wear armor. It is heavy. It is dented. You remember the weight. You remember the pain. Who are you? You do not know. The name is gone. The face in the mirror is not yours. It is a stranger’s. A soldier’s. The eyes are hollow....0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant JourneyThe fire did not announce itself with the slow, creeping smoke of a hearth gone wild, but with a sudden, violent exhalation of heat that turned the air into a shimmering wall of distortion. Thomas Bradshaw stood on the porch of the abandoned rail depot, the iron gate behind him locked and the rusted hinges screaming in protest as he turned away from the inferno that had consumed the station...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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