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The Faded ApartmentThe rain has not stopped for nine days, and the water that seeps through the cracked tiles of the cellar floor is cold enough to make your bones ache in a way that feels less like weather and more like a judgment passed upon your very marrow. You are sitting in the dark, wrapped in a wool blanket that smells of damp wool and old tobacco, listening to the drumming against the roof which is the...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful AtlasThe bell in the tower did not ring. It screamed. It was a sound that tore the air apart, a shriek of metal twisting against its own frame. Eleanor stood on the cobblestones of the courtyard. She watched the bronze face of the clock swing wildly. The mechanism was ancient. It had kept time for the Ashworth family for three generations. Now it was broken. Or perhaps it was waking up. The mist...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Golden OathThe iron gates of the manor stood open, a gaping maw of rusted teeth, inviting the wind to howl through the empty corridors of the house that had once been a beacon of civilization. Silas Thorne stood at the threshold, his boots sinking into the mud that had reclaimed the gravel path, the weight of the leather satchel against his hip heavy with the cold, damp air of the autumn night. He was a...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Faded PhotographThe pie was already on the table, cut into neat, white triangles that looked less like food and more like shrapnel. Margaret stood in the kitchen of the old manor, her hands shaking so badly she could barely grip the carving knife. The air smelled of burnt sugar and copper, a thick, cloying scent that seemed to coat the back of her throat. Outside, the rain lashed against the stained glass...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Pale TaleThe dream was white. Not the white of snow. Not the white of bone. It was the white of silence. The white of a held breath. Captain Elias Thorne stood in it. He wore his dress blues. The wool itched. The brass buttons were cold. He looked down. His hands were empty. He remembered the weight of the rifle. He remembered the weight of the oath. He remembered the weight of Margaret’s hand in his....0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Golden SongThe iron key sat in Silas’s hand, cold as the grave it was meant to unlock, and he stared at it with the hollow, unblinking stare of a man who has forgotten the weight of his own soul. It was a small thing, unremarkable in its ugliness, a jagged piece of metal that had once been a tool of order, a symbol of the rigid hierarchy that bound the realm of Aethelgard together in its golden,...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful SkylineThe glass sphere sat on the dashboard of the sedan, a perfect, unblemished eye that did not blink. Elias Thorne drove with his hands locked at ten and two, his knuckles white, the leather of the wheel creaking under the strain of a grip that refused to loosen. It was a quiet morning, the kind where the fog clings to the asphalt like a wet wool blanket, muffling the world into a grey, indistinct...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant MachineThe rain did not fall so much as it seeped, a persistent, gray mist that clung to the wool of my coat and the stone of the courtyard, turning the world into a damp, breathing thing that seemed to exude sorrow from every pore. I stood before the heavy oak doors of the Ashworth estate, my fingers trembling not from the cold, though the air was biting and sharp, but from the weight of the letter...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful ThroneThe bell in the tower of the White Abbey had not rung for a century, a silent iron tongue hanging in the cold air, yet today it sang, a low, mournful thrum that vibrated in the marrow of the stone and the bones of those who listened, and in the high chamber where the air smelled of dried lavender and old dust, the young woman known as Elara stood before the Great Mirror, a vessel of polished...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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