Night hung over Darwyn like a dripping mollusk. It slumped heavy and damp on his shoulders, and there was something prehensile about it–its murk like tentacles wrapping about him, worming their way into his brain, constricting.  Continue reading →

Edmund looked at the map, examined its borders. The parchment was old and yellowed and losing its integrity, fraying at the edges. The ink, too, was fading away, making the borders it traced indistinct. So old, and yet nothing had changed in that time. Continue reading →

It started with a glance–a pair of eyes brushing against the fine curve of a neck. A chiffon hand alighting on a knee like a butterfly–just as skittish, fluttering away at the slightest movement. Continue reading →