## Static Bloom The harvester, they called it the ‘Dust Moth,’ hung suspended against a bruised violet sky. Not beautiful. Functional. A dull silver sphere bristling with antennae, it drifted like a forgotten buoy in the upper atmosphere of Veridia…
## The Static Bloom The chipped ceramic mug warmed Elias’s hands, the bitter chicory scent barely cutting through the damp cellar smell. Rain lashed against the single high window, each gust a percussion note against the stone. He traced the…
## Klawed Gardens The chipped rim of the teacup felt cool against Elara’s thumb. Not a hairline fracture, exactly. More like a starburst of stress, radiating from an old repair. She turned it slowly in the light filtering through the…
## The Beekeeper’s Compass The scent of beeswax and damp stone clung to Adelheid like a second skin. Dust motes danced in the single shaft of sunlight piercing the apothecary’s window, illuminating rows of labeled jars. Not remedies for coughs…
Dust motes danced in the beam of Leo’s headlamp, a miniature galaxy swirling within the dome of the abandoned Lowell Observatory. The air tasted of rust and regret. He traced a finger across the chipped enamel of the telescope’s base,…