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The Faded ShieldThe dream came first. It always does. I stood in a field of ash. The sky was the color of old iron. In my hand, I held a shield. It was not a weapon. It was a piece of my skin. I felt the weight of it. It was heavy. It was warm. Then the wind came. It tore the shield from my grip. It shattered on the ground. The sound was like a bone breaking. I woke up. The room was dark. The coal fire had...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant TempleThe coat was red. It had been red for forty years. My husband, Thomas, wore it every day. He did not wash it. He did not mend it. He only wore it. It fit him poorly. The sleeves were too long. The collar sat high against his jaw. It looked like a skin that had grown over him, tight and suffocating. We lived in the old house on the hill. The walls were thick. The air was cold. We did not speak...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant JokeI woke with the taste of copper on my tongue and the sound of rain hammering against the slate roof, a rhythm so relentless it felt like a warning. The room was not my study in Edinburgh, nor was the light the pale, grey wash of a Scottish morning. It was a deep, bruised violet, bleeding through windows that had no frames, only the suggestion of glass. I sat up, and the bed felt less like a...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant NightmareThe bus that carried me into the valley of Oakhaven was a rusted metal beast that groaned against the asphalt, its windows fogged with the breath of a dozen strangers who refused to look at one another. I clutched my small leather satchel to my chest, feeling the familiar, cold weight of the amethyst pendant inside, the stone that had belonged to my mother and now belonged to the silence of my...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant JourneyThe rain had not stopped for three days, and the mud of the highland roads had turned into a thick, sucking clay that threatened to swallow the wheels of the cart whole. Thomas Vane sat in the back, his body aching with a dull, persistent throb that seemed to live in the marrow of his bones. He was a large man, broad in the shoulders and thick in the neck, but he moved with a careful, heavy...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful CrossroadsThe glass jar was cracked. I held it in my palm. It was warm. It hummed. A low, vibrating thrum that matched the beating of my heart. We were in the cellar. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and old paper. I was seven years old. My name is not important. Names are heavy things. They pull you down. I was a boy who carried a secret in a glass vessel. The jar was sealed with wax. Red...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Faded FrequencyThe rain hits the window. It sounds like static. You sit in the corner. Your knees are pulled up. Your hands are shaking. They are always shaking now. You are twelve. Or maybe thirteen. Time is soft here. It has no edges. You live in the basement. The walls are damp. The air tastes of mold and old paper. You love the house. You love the walls. You want to be part of them. You want to dissolve...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant PromiseThe fog rolled in from the sea. It tasted of salt and iron. Elara held the ledger close. The pages were cold. They hummed against her ribs. She was the Archivist. She was the keeper. The house stood on the cliff. The wind screamed low. It sounded like a man weeping. Her daughter, Mae, slept below. Elara could hear her breathing. It was a soft rhythm. A drumbeat in the dark. Elara needed the...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant MetropolisThe rain did not fall so much as it was thrown at you, a cold, gritty sleet that tasted of iron and old earth. You stood in the center of the muddy lane, your boots sinking into the soft, black mire of the village, and you held the shattered remains of the glass vessel against your chest with both arms. It was not a simple bottle. It was the last of the clear water, the source that the village...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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