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The Wistful AsylumThe hall smelled of roasted boar and stale sweat. Torches hissed in the iron sconces, throwing long, jagged shadows against the stone walls. Sir Edward Ashworth sat at the high table, his tunic stained with wine and grease. He laughed. The sound was a barking, dry thing that echoed off the vaulted ceiling. Around him, the knights clinked their cups. The noise was a physical weight. It pressed...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Faded MasqueradeThe coffee in the porcelain cup has gone cold, a dark, stagnant pool that reflects the fluorescent hum of the overhead lights rather than the warmth of the hand that poured it. You sit at the edge of your desk in the sterile, glass-walled office of the Sterling and Vance architectural firm, the city outside a gray smear of rain and steel, and you watch the liquid tremble with the subtle,...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Pale CircusThe banquet hall of the Sterling & Vance architectural firm was a monument to controlled chaos, a sprawling expanse of white linen and crystal chandeliers that hummed with the low, electric thrum of two hundred professionals celebrating the firm’s survival in a market that had, until six months prior, been indifferent to their existence, and the air was thick with the scent of expensive...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant ClueThe banquet hall in the old city was a cavern of gold and shadow, echoing with the clatter of silver on porcelain. I stood at the periphery, a shadow among the light. The air was thick, heavy with the scent of roasted duck and expensive perfume, a scent that seemed to coat the tongue in something cloying and sweet. I was fifty years old. The number hung in my mind like a stone in a pocket, cold...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Golden GreenhouseThe air tastes like copper. Like old pennies left on a tongue. You know the taste. You have always known it. It sits on the roof of your mouth, thick and sweet and wrong. You are sitting in a chair that is too high. The legs are brass. They gleam with a dull, oily light. Around you, the walls are made of glass. Not clear glass. Green glass. Thick as a bottle. It hums. A low, vibrating thrum...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Golden VisitThe house stood at the edge of the cliff like a broken tooth. It was white once. Now the plaster flaked in gray scales, revealing the dark brick beneath. The wind did not blow here. It screamed. It tore at the shutters, which hung by single hinges, slapping against the siding with a wet, rhythmic thud. Elara walked toward it. Her boots were caked in mud. The mud was black and slick, drawn from...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant ClueThe dream comes first. It always does. You stand in a field of white lilies, the petals broad and heavy as hands. The wind is still. The air tastes of iron and old dust. In the dream, you are whole. The lilies are whole. Then the sun rises, not warm but bright, and the flowers shatter. They do not wilt. They break. Glass shards of white petal rain down onto your skin. They cut. They do not...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant ThresholdI woke with the taste of copper in my mouth. It was thick. It coated my teeth. It was not blood. It was something older. Something medicinal. The room was dark. The light came from a crack in the plaster. It was narrow. It was gray. I lay still. My hands were bound. The rope was rough. It bit into my wrists. I did not struggle. I had learned that struggle only tightened the knot. I waited for...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant ThresholdThe roof collapsed with a sound like a bone snapping in a quiet room. Miles stood in the kitchen. Dust filled the air. It settled on his uniform. He did not brush it away. His hand tightened around the brass compass in his pocket. The metal was cold. It bit into his palm. Outside, the wind screamed through the broken eaves. The rain lashed the windows. It was a heavy, grey rain. It blurred the...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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