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The Distant SummerThe dust tasted of chalk and old paper, a dry, suffocating powder that coated my tongue as I stood in the center of the Great Hall, my boots planted firmly on the parquet floor which had been sanded and polished to a mirror sheen that reflected the distorted, sweating face of a man who was no longer the young officer I had once been, and I watched the massive oak doors at the far end of the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant SummerThe dampness in the barracks of the Fourteenth Regiment did not smell of mold, but of old iron and unwashed wool, a scent that had settled into the pores of Sergeant Elias Thorne’s skin over three years of service. He sat on the edge of his narrow cot, his fingers working the soft, grey mud he had scraped from the yard’s drainage ditch, shaping it with a ferocity that belied his quiet demeanor....0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Golden QuestThe shredder in Director Halloway’s office does not make a sound like destruction, but rather a rhythmic, industrial chewing, a mechanical mastication of paper that seems to swallow the very air of the room, and you stand before his desk, watching the edges of your appeal letter disappear into the steel teeth, the white pulp collecting in the bin beneath the machine like a pile of teeth pulled...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Pale FractureYou are standing in the kitchen, the air thick with the smell of rotting apples and damp stone, and you are looking at the jar of preserves that sits on the table, the glass cracked down the middle in a jagged, pale line that bleeds honey across the white wood, and you are thinking about how it is a miracle that anyone in this place still remembers the word for sweet, because the sweetness has...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful CrossroadsThe chalk dust in my lungs tasted of iron and old stone, a grit that settled in the crevices of my knuckles as I scraped the final entry into the Grand Ledger. I am Elara, twelve years old, and in the walled city of Oakhaven, I am nothing more than a pair of hands belonging to Master Halloway, a scribe whose fingers tremble so violently that he can barely hold a quill without shivering. The air...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Faded ParadoxThe glass partition between my desk and the corridor did not reflect the room. It reflected a man who was dying. I looked up from the Paradox File, the stack of actuarial tables heavy in my hands, and met the eyes of a gaunt, terrified stranger. His skin was translucent, stretched tight over hollow cheeks, his breath visible in the chill of the reflection. I touched my own face. Smooth. Warm....0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful LetterThe harvest moon rose over the jagged spine of the Blackwood ridge, spilling a cold, silver light across the cobblestones of Oakhaven, a town that seemed to exist in the perpetual twilight between the age of chivalry and the decay of the world. We were gathered in the great hall of the Lord’s manor, a place where the air tasted of stale beeswax and the heavy, metallic tang of old iron, and the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant CartographThe rain on the hull of the trawler was not just water, it was a cold, relentless interrogation that seeped into the bones of your hands which were wrapped around the tiller of the small boat you had commandeered from the dock, your knuckles white against the wet wood as you fought the current that pulled you away from the shore of the mainland where the lights of the town burned with a harsh,...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Faded SutraThe frost on the server room window wasn’t condensation; it was a map, etched in jagged white lines that pulsed with a faint, rhythmic cold against my knuckles. I pressed my thumb into the ice, feeling the bite of it, a sharp, physical pain that grounded me in the reality of the building’s basement where the air conditioning had failed three days ago, leaving the servers humming in a stagnant,...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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