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…
Sorrow
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The Bloom
The chipped Formica of the diner booth felt cold beneath Fi’s elbows. Steam rose from her coffee, blurring the fluorescent lights above. She watched the rain smear the city outside, mirroring the gray cloud hanging over Leo. “You look like…
The Weight of Sorrow
The scent of cut grass and diesel hung thick in the late afternoon air. Astralen guided the mower along the edge of Lord Elmsworth’s prize-winning clover, the engine a steady drone against the rising wind. Not exactly the life he…