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The Wistful VoyageThe rain had not stopped for three days, a relentless, gray curtain that blurred the edges of the city into a watercolor wash of slate and iron, and as Elias Vane stood on the platform of the Central Terminus, watching the last of the morning commuters disperse into the mist, he felt the weight of the iron key in his pocket pressing against his thigh like a second heart, beating with a cold,...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Golden MazeI dreamt of the glass. It was a shard. Small. Sharp. Blue. I held it in my hand. My fingers bled. The blood was red. The glass was cold. I woke up. The room was dark. The stone walls were old. Moss grew in the cracks. I am old now. My bones ache. The air is thin. I live in the tower. The high tower. The King’s tower. I am the Keeper. That is my title. No one calls me by name. I was not always...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful AsylumThe ink did not dry on the ledger; it swelled, black and viscous, eating the paper like a wound refusing to close. Thomas Bradshaw stood before the mahogany desk, his hands trembling not from fear, but from the sheer, crushing weight of the words that had just manifested from the air. He was a man of ledgers, of balanced columns and predictable margins, a clerk in the Department of Records, a...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Golden GreenhouseYou are leaving the house, and the house is leaving you, and the air between the two events is thick with the scent of wet wool and old paper, a smell that has settled into the walls of this Victorian terrace on a street that bends like a question mark around the corner of a life you are about to abandon. You step out into the grey morning, the kind of light that makes the world look like a...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful PetalThe rain hits the glass. It is a steady, grey curtain. You are in the office. The air is stale. It smells of ozone and old paper. You sit at the desk. The chair is hard. You are a data analyst. Your name is Elias. You are thirty-four. You are tired. Outside, the city moves. It is a blur of red and white lights. You watch a petal fall. It is red. It spins in the wind. It hits the pavement. It...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Pale ShadowsThe bell tolled midnight. It hung heavy in the air, a iron weight dragging the soul down. I stood before the High Lord. His shadow stretched long across the stone floor. It swallowed my feet. I was small. He was vast. The court was cold. The air tasted of ash and old blood. I came to beg. I came to ask. I held nothing in my hands. My palms were open. They were empty. This was the trap. I had...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant AffairThe rain lashed the stone. It was a cold, grey wash. "Is it done?" I asked. My voice was thick. It tasted of iron and old dust. Father did not look up. He stood by the hearth. The fire was low. It barely lit the room. He held the mirror in his hands. It was small. A hand mirror. The frame was silver. It was tarnished now. Dark spots spread like bruises on the metal. "It is done," he said. His...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful MirrorThe glass was cracked. I knew this before I woke. I knew it in the marrow of my bones, a cold ache that sat heavy in my chest. My name is Elias. I am a man of the sea, though the sea now lives only in my memory and the salt in the air. I live in the high tower of the old manor, a place of dust and silence. My father, Lord Blackwood, sits below in the great hall. He is not my father by blood,...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Pale MistThe banquet hall of the Ironwood Keep smelled of roasted venison and old, damp stone, a scent that had seeped into the very mortar of the walls over three centuries of unbroken service. Sir Alaric Vane stood at the center of the long table, his tunic stained with the grease of the feast, while the lesser knights and squires around him debated the merits of the new royal tax levies with a fervor...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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