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The Distant GardenThe ink bled, a dark and wet stain spreading across the parchment like a bruise forming under the skin, and you watched it seep into the fibers with the same helpless attention you paid to the trembling of your own fingers, which shook with a palsy that had become so pronounced in the last month that the quill felt less like a tool and more like a foreign object lodged in your flesh. You are...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Faded AlibiThe hand of Sergeant Elias Thorne, forty-two years old and mapped with the grey scars of old burns, was already moving before his eyes opened, twisting the wristwatch on his left arm to check the time. It was 0400, the hour when the concrete of the barracks seemed to contract in the cold, and the recurring dream was fading into the grey light of the window. In the dream, the foxglove had always...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Faded ShieldThe Faded Shield The rain had been falling on Edinburgh for three days straight when Captain Thomas Harrow made his way to the gates of St. James Churchyard, a tarnished cavalry shield strapped to his back beneath a greatcoat that had seen better decades. The shield had belonged to his grandfather—James Harrow of the Third Dragoons, who had carried it at the Battle of Waterloo, who had pressed...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful CrossroadsThe ledger lay open on the oak table, its pages swollen with damp, the ink of the final entry still wet and black as a bruise. Elias Thorne, steward of the Blackwood estate for thirty-two years, stared at the column of figures that detailed the inventory of the harvest feast, his eyes tracing the line where the ancestral silver chalice was listed as "missing." The room smelled of roasted pork...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Faded FrequencyThe wind is tearing the roof shingles from the Thorne estate like a man tearing the skin from a bone, and I am writing this by the guttering light of a single tallow candle because the electricity failed three days ago and the coal merchant refused to deliver unless I paid in cash I do not possess. It is December, 1893, and I am forty-two years old, a man who has spent the last decade...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant ThresholdThe iron file snapped against the bone gear, the sound sharp and wet, like a knuckle cracking in a silent room. Elias Thorne did not flinch. His eyes, red-rimmed and fixed on the intricate lattice of the Great Hall’s central chime, missed nothing. The workshop was a tomb of dust and soot, the air thick with the metallic tang of ozone and something older, something that smelled of wet earth and...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Golden Harbor14 October 1893. The banquet at Blackwood Manor was a cacophony of silver and silk, a spectacle designed to drown out the silence of the poor. I sat at the far end of the long table, a clerk of thirty-four years, my hands folded neatly on the white linen, while Lord Vane toasted the prosperity of our valley. The air was thick, suffocatingly so, heavy with the cloying scent of rotting orchids...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Pale ShadowsThe stew in the iron pot simmered with a thick, grey vitality, the smell of dried sage and rendered fat hanging heavy in the air of the hollow’s community hall, a scent that was supposed to mean plenty but instead smelled, to Elara, of the rotting debt that had swallowed her brother’s life. She stood at the head of the long table, her hands trembling not from the cold seeping through the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Golden QuestThe chandeliers in the great hall of Ashworth Manor did not sparkle so much as they burned, a cold, golden fire that reflected in the polished mahogany tables and the white porcelain of the forty guests who had gathered for the Duke’s final toast. Captain Elias Thorne stood at the head of the table, his uniform pressed so tight it seemed to cut into his skin, his eyes fixed on his father, the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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