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The Wistful CrossroadsThe sky is not blue, nor is it the bruised purple of a dying twilight; it is a flat, matte white that hums against your eardrums like a high-voltage wire, and you stand at the center of a circle of ash that was once a village. You are twelve, or perhaps thirteen, but in this place age is a fluid concept, measured not in years but in the weight of the silence that presses against your ribs. You...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant MachineThe glass is broken. It sits in the corner. A spider web. Thick. White. Stuck to the pane. I do not clean it. I sit on the floor. Back against the wall. The air is cold. The window is open. Just a crack. A bird lands on the sill. It is a sparrow. Small. Brown. It looks at me. I look at it. "Hello," I say. My voice is rough. Like sandpaper. The bird does not move. It tilts its head. One eye....0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Golden MirrorThe rain slicked the cobblestones of London, turning the city into a mirror that refused to hold my reflection. I stood on the bridge, watching the black water churn below. It was cold. Too cold for July. "You’re late, Thomas." The voice came from behind me. I did not turn. I knew who it was. I always knew who it was. "I’m not late," I said. My voice sounded thin, scraped raw by the wind. "I’m...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Faded RootYou stand before the mirror. The glass is cold. It has been cold for three hundred years. You press your palm against it. The glass does not break. It has never broken. You are old. Your hands are maps of wrinkles. The veins beneath the skin look like rivers in a dying land. You look for your face. You see only the mirror. The mirror is waiting. It has always been waiting. The house is quiet....0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Faded FrontierThe rain did not fall so much as it settled, a grey, silent dust that coated the windows of the clinic in Oakhaven, blurring the line between the sterile white of the walls and the wet, breathing earth outside. Margaret Holloway stood by the sink, her hands submerged in water that was no longer cold, scrubbing at a stain that wasn’t there. She was a creature of routine, a woman who found safety...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Pale DoorThe train rattled over the iron bridges, a shudder that traveled up through the wooden floor and into the bones of your legs. You were twelve years old, sitting in the corner of a third-class carriage that smelled of wet wool and coal dust. Your father, Arthur, sat across from you, his hands folded in his lap, his fingers white-knuckled around his own thumbs. He did not look at you. He looked...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful SagaThe sky above the ramparts of Aethelgard did not break; it shattered. It happened with a sound like a thousand glass panes dropping on stone, a shrieking resonance that vibrated in your teeth and turned the blood in your ears to ice. You stood on the battlements, your hand resting on the cold iron of your sword hilt, watching the heavens crack open like a ripe pomegranate. From the fissures...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Pale BonsaiThe coughing starts before you do. It is a wet, heavy sound. It sounds like wet sand falling through a sieve. You are in the room. The room is small. The walls are painted a color that has forgotten its name. It is a color that looks like dried blood mixed with ash. You hold the object in your hands. It is small. It is pale. It is a bone. A finger bone. You found it in the soil of a bonsai. The...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Faded MasqueradeThe ballroom hummed. It was a low sound. Like a machine. Waiting. Margaret stood in the corner. She held her glass. It was empty. The light was gold. Thick gold. It fell on the chandelier. It fell on the men. They wore masks. Smooth. White. Featureless. They did not speak. They watched. Their eyes were dark. Deep. Like wells. Margaret felt the heat. It rose from the floor. It wrapped her legs....0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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