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The Distant SummerThe blackened petal lay on the ledger, a dry, brittle thing that crumbled into grey dust when I touched it with my thumb. It was the first of the season, though it was not yet October, and the air in the kitchen was already damp with the chill that settles into the stones of Blackwood Manor in late summer. I am Elara, thirty years old, and I have served here for four years, keeping the accounts...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Pale BonsaiThe scalpel was cold, heavier than it looked, its edge worn dull from years of cutting bark and sinew. You held it in your right hand, the metal biting into the calluses you had built up over thirty-four years of tending the glasshouse at Ashworth Botanicals. The glass hissed around you, a low, industrial drone that vibrated in your teeth. Your father, Arthur, sat in the wheelchair by the north...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant GhostThe letter lay on the iron table, the ink still wet, the paper damp with the condensation of the shed. It was not a letter of love, nor of warning, but of termination, signed in a hand that shook only slightly at the end. You read it twice, your fingers cold, the rusted pocket watch in your pocket ticking against your ribs like a second, erratic pulse. The dream had come back to you in the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful CrossroadsThe quill in my hand felt less like a tool and more like a bone, cold and brittle against my palm, as I stared at the drop of black fluid trembling on the tip, refusing to fall. I was Elias Thorne, thirty-two years old, a scribe of the High Court in the city of Aethelgard, and I had spent the last four years in the debt-prison, writing off my father’s gambling losses one line at a time until my...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Golden RitualI dreamt of gold teeth. Not the shiny kind, but the dull, yellowed caps of old men who had died with secrets in their mouths. I woke with the taste of copper in my throat, the sheets twisted tight around my legs. It was 4:00 AM. The rain against the window sounded like static. I had to be at the Ministry by seven. I had to finish the audit. I am Elias Thorne. I am forty-two. I am a senior...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Pale FractureThe hydraulic press groaned, a low, tectonic shudder that traveled up through the soles of Kael’s boots and into the marrow of his shins. He stood in the central atrium of the Spire, the air thick with the scent of ozone and copper, watching his younger brother, Eli, drive the ceremonial spike through the chest of the dissenting elder. The man’s mouth opened, a silent O of shock, before the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Pale PathThe discharge summary lay on the tray table, the paper thin as onion skin, the ink smudged where a nurse’s thumb had pressed too hard. It was a list of things I had lost: the use of my left leg, the ability to run without a cane, the future I had sketched out in charcoal on the back of envelopes. I was twelve years old, and the document said I would never walk again. I did not sign it. I did...0 Comments 0 Shares 3 Views 0 Reviews
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The Faded ShieldThe heavy silver chalice sat in Sir Aldric’s palm, its weight a familiar anchor against the tremor in his fingers. He stood at the edge of the long table in the Great Hall of York, the air thick with the scent of roasted boar and spiced wine, while the noise of the feast swelled around him like a tide. His eyes drifted past the flickering tallow candles to the high window, where the pale moon...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant GardenElias. That was how the magistrate called out to me, sharp and thin across the noise of the feast, his voice cutting through the smell of roasted pork and damp wool. I was twelve, and I stood by the heavy oak table where the harvest was counted, my hands itching to scrub the dirt from under my fingernails. Silas was there, too, sitting in the corner with his head bowed, his breathing shallow...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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