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The Distant TempleThe rain in Harrowgate did not wash things clean; it only made the grime slicker, turning the cobblestones into mirrors for the bruised sky. Arthur Vane stood before the iron gate of St. Jude’s Chapel, his knuckles white around the leather-bound ledger his father had left him, a heavy, cold weight in his hand. The gate refused to yield to his shoulder, to his hip, to the frantic, desperate...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Pale AltarThe candlelight in the Abbey of St. Jude did not flicker so much as it suffocated, a pale, trembling thing against the oppressive dark of the nave where Brother Thomas, a novice of only thirty-two years and a heart heavy with a desperate, illicit ambition, clutched a stolen vial of consecrated wine to his chest as if it were a lover’s cold hand. He was not a man of miracles, nor did he believe...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant JokeThe dampness in the scriptorium of the Abbey of St. Jude did not merely settle on the stone; it seeped into the marrow, a cold, persistent agent that Thomas Bradshaw felt in the joints of his hands as he inspected the vellum. It was the year 1348, and the air in the abbey was thick with the scent of rotting ink and the low, subsonic hum of a community unraveling. Thomas, a Royal Inquisitor of...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Golden ScarThe cough started in the throat, a dry rasp that turned to wet, heavy blows by the time Elias reached the communal sink in Sector Four. He spat into the grey rag, checking the color. It was pink, diluted by the soot water, but the streak of crimson was unmistakable. The state-issued inhaler, a cold metal tube that smelled of ozone and punishment, did nothing. The air in New Keth was thick with...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Golden FarceThe fog at Blackwood Station tasted of coal dust and wet iron, a thick, grey veil that clung to the platform and swallowed the distant whistle of the approaching engine. You stood at the edge of the yellow line, your hands clasped behind your back, your spine rigid as the steel rails beneath your boots. Captain Elias Thorne, enforcer of the Imperial Railways, thirty years old and hollowed out...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant CrownThe ink on the application form was still wet when the letter arrived. Margaret Holloway sat at her desk in the Department of Historical Records, the heavy oak surface cold against her forearms, and watched the envelope slide from the slot in the mahogany door. It was a standard government envelope, cream-colored and unmarked, but the seal was broken before her fingers touched it. She knew the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant JokeThe dream is always the same. You see a blackberry bush, thick and bristling, erupting from a blanket of fresh snow. The berries are not black, but a deep, bruised purple, pulsing with a life that defies the winter air. You wake with the taste of iron and sugar on your tongue, the sheets tangled around your legs, the gray light of dawn pressing against the window of your barracks room. You are...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful ShowThe button was loose, a small brass eye staring out from the left lapel of my tunic, and I spent the first ten minutes of the night shift trying to keep it from catching on the velvet rope that separated the lobby from the service corridor, my fingers trembling with a weight that wasn’t there, a phantom heaviness in the air that made every movement feel like wading through cold honey. I am...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant JokeThe snow in the dream was not white, but the color of old blood, caking the cobblestones of a street that did not exist, and I woke with my hands clenched so tightly around the iron bedframe that the skin split and bled onto the straw. It was three in the morning, and the cold had a weight to it, pressing against the thin walls of my room in the lower city, where the smell of damp wool and...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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