The wind does not howl; it screeches, a thin, metallic sound that tears through the eaves of the manor house like a blade through silk. You are standing on the battlements, your hand white-knuckled around the hilt of your sword, the iron cold enough to burn your palm. Below, in the courtyard, the mist clings to the cobblestones, swallowing the feet of the men who are shouting. They are not...
The glass bead hangs from your ear, cold and unyielding, a shard of the world you left behind. You feel its weight, a tiny, fractured anchor. It is the only thing that remembers the shape of the face you wore when you were someone else. You are alone in the parlor, the air thick with the dust of old industry and the scent of damp wool. The fire has died down to embers, glowing with a faint,...
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