Artificial Nocturne

Once home, I cannot stop thinking about two things: the bird and the poster. I am not sure which one disturbs me more. I don't tell anyone, not even Gordon. He doesn't speak to me of what we saw either, but there is still a conversation there, every time we look at each other. In his eyes I see the same thing that must linger in mine. Questions and hurts. Have we been made only to be sold?

Last Rites for a Vagabond

The dispensary was so organized it made my skin creep. Give me a hovel little better than a roofed-over hole and a crone with teeth as black as night. She’d hardly care what you bought or why; might even give you more if you spoke straight to her. No one likes a liar, but life forces you to it.

Audio Fiction Podcast:
The Girl Who Welcomed Death to Svalgearyen

Podcast: Download (Duration: 26:41 — 18.32MB)
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The flickers of firelight skipped over the ground and tickled Adda's feet, even through her heavy boots.
From the Archives:
They Make of You a Monster
By the time they snap her fifth finger, she doesn't have the strength to struggle anymore.