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The Wistful ShowChapter One Sofia Zafeiriou’s fingers were already stained with slip when the dream broke. She was halfway through smoothing the clay rim of a well-digger’s trowel, the tool she used to dowsing by rumor, when the ash settled on her knuckles. In the dream, her husband Nikos did not scream. He simply dissolved, his features turning to grey powder that drifted into the rafters of their small house...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Golden SongAct I "You are shaking again, Greta." The voice came from the shadows of the archive, low and dry as old parchment. I looked up from the ledger. The ink was wet. It was not black. It was the color of the quarry lake, unnaturally blue, bleeding into the pores of my left hand. "I am cold, Director Vane," I said. My hands did not stop trembling. Vane stepped closer. He smelled of wool and damp...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful CrossroadsChapter One The salt pans of Skye stretched out under a sky bruised with the threat of afternoon thunder, a vast, white expanse where the air tasted of iron and brine, and the workers moved in slow, rhythmic lines, their boots sinking into the wet crust as they harvested the day’s yield. It was a place of hard labor and harder silence, where the only sound was the scrape of wooden rakes against...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful PetalChapter One The sertão lay flat and cracked under a sun that seemed to burn the very air into silence, a landscape of stranded whales where the river had retreated to a smell of brine and rot, and in this drought that defied the calendar, the border checkpoint operated with a sterile, humming efficiency that felt less like law and more like a machine grinding bone. Salvador Valenzuela sat in...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Pale GardenChapter One I remember the forty-two of the Rope Walk, the specific grit of sand in the hinge where the desalination plant’s intake pipe groaned under the weight of the returning ice. It was there, in the sterile hum of the St. Jude’s Medical Institute atrium, that I first felt the copper taste on my tongue, a metallic tang that signaled the walls were thinning, that the building was breathing...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Pale MistThe ledger weighed forty-two pounds, a heavy iron-bound thing that smelled of sulfur and old blood. I counted the entries as I hauled it from the Captain’s private study, my fingers slick with the damp that always clung to the walls of the outpost. Each line item was a deduction, a fine, a silence purchased with the erasure of a man’s past. I had served for twelve years, twelve years of...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful PetalGa-eun Yeo remembered the smell of the medical bay first: a cloying mix of antiseptic and stale ozone, the scent of a place where bodies were kept in stasis until the paperwork said otherwise. He stood in the corridor of the colony’s administrative wing, the air thin and recycled, pressing his thumb against the biometric scanner that refused to recognize his fatigue. He needed the clearance for...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Pale MeridianChapter One "Another transfer denied, Wira. The Major says your temperament is volatile." Sari stood in the doorway of the barracks, her face tight with the fatigue of a woman who had walked too far for too little. Wira Santoso looked up from the ledger he was balancing, the numbers blurring in the dim light of the lamp. He was thirty-two, though the years at the border had carved him into...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Pale EchoVane. The name hung in the thin air of the attic, cold and sharp as a wire. Arthur Vane woke with the taste of dust on his tongue, the recurring dream already dissolving into the grey light of early morning. In the dream, the porcelain urn had shattered, the shards scattering across the floor like teeth. He sat up, his joints protesting the cold, and looked at the empty space where the shelf...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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