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The Pale MistThe broth was thick and white, a substance that defied the logic of the kitchen, simmering in the iron pot with the heavy, rhythmic thud of a second heartbeat against the cast iron, and I stood there with my hands pressed flat against the cold marble counter, feeling the heat radiate through the stone, a heat that was not comfort but a warning, a prelude to the dissolution of the self that had...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Golden MirrorThe rain had not stopped for three days, a relentless, gray curtain that turned the windows of the manor into sheets of blurred water. I stood in the center of the Grand Hall, the air thick with the scent of damp wool and old varnish, and watched the mirror. It was not a large piece, nor was it gilded in the ostentatious fashion of the other antiques in the estate. It was a simple, tall...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful VoyageThe dream was not of flight, but of drowning in a field of white poppies. I woke with the taste of dry earth in my mouth. The room was dark, the air thick with the scent of lilies that Mrs. Gable had left on the bedside table. I sat up, my joints protesting the sudden movement, and listened to the rain tapping against the windowpane. It was a steady, rhythmic sound, like the ticking of a clock...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
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The Golden MythThe roasted lamb smelled of rosemary and old money, a scent that clung to the velvet drapes of the manor house like a stain. Elias stood at the center of the reception, his cufflinks tight against his wrist to hide the tremor in his left hand. He was fifty-two, and the body that had spent twenty years restoring the peeling paint and rotting joists of Ashworth Hall was now a traitor, betraying...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant JokeThe sky above the ridge of Blackwood Hollow did not darken so much as it bled. A bruised purple swollen in the west, pressing down on the jagged teeth of the pine forest, signaled a storm that had been waiting for days to break. Elias Thorne sat on the edge of the precipice, his boots dangling over the abyss, watching the wind strip the leaves from the dead oaks. He was a man made of hard...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Pale BonsaiYou stand at the precipice of the administrative abyss, the fluorescent lights humming a low, electric hymn that vibrates directly against the base of your skull, a frequency that feels less like sound and more like a physical pressure, a heavy hand pressing down on the back of your neck, reminding you that you are a cog in a machine that has forgotten its own purpose, that you are here not for...0 Comments 0 Shares 4 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant GhostThe road was wet. It had been wet for three days. You walked. Your boots were heavy. They were soaked through. The leather hung limp. You pulled the coat tighter. It was your father’s coat. It smelled of tobacco and rain. It was too big. It swallowed you whole. The sleeves reached past your knuckles. The collar brushed your chin. You were small. You were twelve. You were alone. The town of...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful AshesThe Ministry of Memory did not have windows, for windows were breaches in the seal, and seals were the only thing that kept the past from leaking into the present in uncontrolled, corrosive floods. Elias Thorne sat in the basement archive, a place where the air was dry enough to crack the lips and silent enough to make the blood rushing in one’s ears sound like a distant ocean, and he waited...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful AsylumThe shard cuts your palm. You do not flinch. You are twelve, and your hands are bare, holding the fractured pieces of the King’s seal. The stone is warm, then hot, then a searing brand against your skin. It whispers. The voice is low, a rasp of gravel and dust, and it sounds terrifyingly like your own. It speaks a name. Kael. Your brother. The court has already branded him a traitor, a thief of...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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