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The Pale CircusThe air in the chapel of Saint Jude did not smell of incense or old stone, but of wet iron and the cloying, sweet rot of lilies that had been forced to bloom out of season, a scent that clung to Elara’s clothes like a second skin, heavier and more suffocating than the wool of her gown. She stood in the shadows of the nave, her back pressed against the cold pillar, listening to the breath of the...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
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The Faded RiverThe gaslight in the laboratory flickered with a sickly, yellow jaundice, casting long, trembling shadows that seemed to possess their own distinct and malicious intent, while the air hung heavy with the scent of ozone and the metallic tang of old blood, a combination that you had long since stopped distinguishing from the smell of your own decay. You stand before the glass case, your hands...0 Comments 0 Shares 4 Views 0 Reviews
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The Golden QuestMargaret woke with the taste of rust in her mouth. The dream had been loud. It was a noise that pressed against her eardrums, a high-pitched whine that sounded like the furnace struggling to catch. In the dream, the furnace was a golden beast. It breathed fire. It was beautiful and it was hungry. She sat up in the narrow bed of the staff quarters. The walls were damp. The carpet was stained...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Golden GreenhouseThe wagon creaked over the cobblestones. It was a sound like a bone snapping. Brother Thomas sat in the back, his knees pulled to his chest. He held the jar. It was heavy. It smelled of rot and honey. The Abbey of St. Jude stood at the end of the hill. The stones were dark. They had been washed by centuries of rain. The air tasted of wet ash. Thomas was the Head of the Infirmary. He was old....0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Faded RoadThe bell in the steeple cracked. It did not ring; it screamed, a jagged tear in the fabric of the afternoon that silenced the village of Oakhaven instantly. You were seven years old, standing in the mud of the lane, holding a coat that was too big for your shoulders. The coat belonged to the Archivist. It was a heavy thing, dyed the color of dried blood, lined with silver thread that shimmered...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful GridThe iron was cold. I held it tight. My knuckles white. The metal bit into my palm. It hurt. Good. Pain was real. The world was not. Or so they said. I am Thomas. I was a man of law. I wore the star. I walked the beat. Now I walk the wild. Now I walk alone. The wind screamed. It tore at my cloak. It tore at my mind. I looked at the iron. It was a plowshare. Broken. Bent. A relic of the old...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful CipherThe banquet hall of the St. Jude’s Asylum for the Incurably Insane smelled of wet wool, boiled turnips, and the metallic tang of old blood that had long since dried into the plaster. It was a feast not of food, but of presence, a dense, suffocating accumulation of bodies and minds that had been stripped of their names and returned only to the state of breathing meat. Thomas Bradshaw sat at the...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant CrownThe bell tower stood silent above the manor. I climbed the stairs. My lungs burned. The air was thin. I held the hammer. It was heavy. Iron. Cold. I am a mason. My name is Elias. I have built walls. I have sealed windows. I have kept the cold out. But this house was different. The stones whispered. Lord Ashworth waited at the top. He was old. His face was a map of wrinkles. He looked at the...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant TempleThe ice had cracked under the weight of the patrol truck before I even saw the fissure, a jagged white scar tearing through the black water of the reservoir, and I remember thinking that the sound was not the snapping of ice but the dry, hollow crack of a bone breaking inside my own chest, a noise that echoed long after the vehicle had stopped sliding and come to rest on a shelf of frozen mud...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
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