Amelia finally awoke lying on her back, chest heaving, her head still spinning as she peered at a bruised grey sky swirled with muddied rainbows. At first, she didn’t understand what she was looking at. It was no ordinary sky. As she stared, frigid breath curled from her mouth like a wraith. The house in Belgravia was gone. Eventually, once the spinning had slowed, she shoved her fists into the snow and forced herself unsteadily to her feet. She was alone. In the pale opal

October 19th, 1870 Belgravia, London Amelia Beckett was struggling to take down her family’s old mirror from above the fireplace when it slipped, struck the mantle and crashed to the floor, shattering instantly. She recoiled, heart pounding, as jagged fragments scattered across the hardwood. The violence of the sound lingered in her ears. “Oh, God…” she murmured, tears welling as she gazed down at her mistake. She had lost her grip, momentarily unnerved by the face

Paul usually enjoyed darker weather, but this morning was a little too unsettling. Even for him. Elephant & Castle looked strangely colourless on the way here. The sky hung low and grey, flattening the city into a single muted palette. Red buses hissed through puddles, cyclists hunched against the drizzle, and the air smelled faintly of wet concrete and exhaust fumes. The coffee shop on the corner of New Kent Road had a good name. Sacred Grounds. Paul had to admit, it amus

Cole couldn't properly see the Sisters from his bunk. He could see the luminous edge of their dance in the darkness, but not their full splendour. He took the cloth bundle with him as he scaled down the short ladder and hurried across the metal cabin to sit beside the narrow window. The task ahead was frightening. He needed the fortitude the Sisters offered. Seven brilliant points of bluish white set against the swirling red and yellow of the nebula. Namramurti had

The magic of dreams seemed more attainable than forgiveness, if equally unreal. Elisa admired the professor’s passion. She wanted to...

I am burning pages, in dreaming. Pages that seek to pass as lost, shattered truth. I rarely burn written things, regardless of their...