The Summer King

“Shit,” I said, and that sat there ugly and twitching between us for a few seconds before his stallion decided he’d had enough and wanted to go check out the mares. The King just had enough time to swoop up into his saddle before the horse made a beeline through the crowd. “Come and see me sometime, Livia!” he called, and then he was gone, swallowed up in the blue.

His arm was still on my waist, hot like an iron rail.
Transitions of Truth and Tears

Garran spotted the fountain long before he reached its base. Water spurted into the air, sprung from a stone wineskin held by a life-sized statue of the founder of of the murderers of Beliath. Garran repeated that fact in his head as he pushed through the last throng of people, a part of him both amazed and horrified that no one had stopped him yet; a much deeper part shamed that he had not stopped on his own.

Garran woke with a scream and scurried on all fours to the corner of the sanctuary to vomit. He remembered everything.
Audio Fiction Podcast:
The Suffering Gallery

Podcast: Download (Duration: 46:47 — 32.13MB)

“Do you question me, Mielbok, the Billion-Toothed Maggot?”