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The Distant JokeThe rain did not fall so much as it hung, a suspended gray curtain that blurred the edge of the world into a single, indistinct smear of stone and shadow. Thomas Bradshaw sat alone in the upper gallery of the Great Hall, his back against the cold stone of the pillar, watching the water drip from the eaves into the moat below. He was a man of letters, a scholar of the old tongues, yet in this...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Golden OathThe rain had been falling on the coal yards for three days, turning the black dust into a slick, oily sludge that coated the boots of every man who walked the perimeter of the Ironworks. You were one of them, though you had not been one of them for very long. The air tasted of sulfur and wet iron, a metallic tang that settled in the back of your throat and refused to leave. You walked the line...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Pale ProtocolThe letter arrived on a Tuesday, the ink still wet and smelling faintly of iron and rain, lying upon the mahogany desk of Professor Alistair Thorne like a pale, flapping bird that had fallen from a height it could not have survived, and it was signed by Julian, his brother, the man who had once sworn an oath of silence to the family name but who now, in a script that trembled with a manic,...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful CrossroadsThe rain had been falling for three days, a persistent and gray curtain that turned the sprawling estate of the Blackwood lineage into a drowning island, where the water lapped against the high stone foundation and the willows in the front yard hung so low and so heavy with moisture that they seemed to be dragging the earth itself down into the dark, saturated soil. In the highest room of the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Golden DowntownThe rain did not fall so much as it hung, a grey veil stretched tight against the high, narrow windows of the city. You stood in the center of the square, the wet cobblestones slick and dark beneath your boots, and you felt the weight of the gold in your pocket. It was not a coin, nor a bar, nor a ring. It was a small, smooth stone, warm to the touch, humming with a low, persistent vibration...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Pale GardenThe house breathes. You feel it in the floorboards. A slow, rhythmic expansion and contraction. Like a lung filling with cold air. You are alone. The walls are white. Too white. They press against you. The silence is not empty. It is full. Full of data. Full of code. You are a glitch. You know this. You have always known this. The mirror in the hall is cracked. A spiderweb fracture runs from...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful DinnerThe first crack in the ceiling of the Grand Hall did not announce itself with a sound, but with a silence so profound it swallowed the hum of the chandeliers and the murmur of three hundred guests, leaving only the dry, papery tear of plaster as it peeled away from the iron ribs of the structure, falling like ash onto the white tablecloths that had been starched to the rigidity of bone. You...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Pale GardenThe banquet hall was a throat of stone. It swallowed the light. It swallowed the sound. I stood at the edge. I was the detective. I was the seeker. The air tasted of iron. And old dust. The tables stretched out. Like ribs of a beast. They were covered in white. The white was dirty. The guests sat still. They did not eat. They did not drink. They watched. Their eyes were black. Their faces were...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
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The Faded RiverThe ink on the scroll was dry, black and absolute against the pale vellum, and it sat on the table before me like a small, dead bird. I did not touch it. My fingers, calloused from the hilt of a sword that had not seen battle in three years, hovered over the edge of the oak, trembling not with fear but with the weight of a silence that had been growing inside my chest for months. The room...0 Comments 0 Shares 3 Views 0 Reviews
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