Echo Bloom
## Echo Bloom The rain tasted like iron. Not a sharp, metallic tang, but the dull ache of rusted nails pressed against the tongue. Elara licked her lips, the chill clinging to them despite the humid Georgia air. She stood…
Sanctuary
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Ghost Bloom
## Ghost Bloom The rain smelled like something forgotten, dredged from deep inside. Not the clean, metallic tang of a storm, but old paper and damp earth, layered with something sweeter, almost floral. Elara wrinkled her nose, pulling the worn…
Echo Bloom
## Echo Bloom The air tasted of static and regret. Elder traced a finger across the hull of the *Dust Moth*, its metal cool even through his worn gloves. Outside, the nebula bled purple and bruised orange, a cosmic bruise…
The Static Between Lines
## The Static Between Lines The chipped Formica of the diner booth felt cold under Ivo’s elbows. Nineteen levels deep at Alpha Tech, and all he had to show for it was a growing anxiety about the emptiness of his…
The Weaver of Lost Feelings
The rain tasted like static. Old Man Tiber, they called him, though nobody knew if he *was* an old man anymore, or just a construct wearing the skin of one. His shop, a cubbyhole wedged between a noodle stall and…