Love, Resurrected

This half-life dragged at her. She felt weary all the time, a chilled-bone sluggishness of motion that belied the quickness of her thoughts. It was not painful to breathe, but it was tiring, and she began to eschew it when alone and unworried about frightening the living.

Three years after her death, she still labored in his service.
Playing for Amarante

Only as the song nears its end do I risk a glance at my audience. I see a movement behind Dr. Mesmer’s head. For a moment I think it is a trick of the doubled mirrors, that I’ve caught a glimpse of myself reflected from the other room. But reflections do not wear strange clothes. The man stands in the back of the room. His eyes are closed, and his jacket is torn. His head is bleeding.

The man with my face opens his eyes.
Audio Fiction Podcast:
Breathing Sunshine

Podcast: Download (Duration: 33:01 — 22.67MB)

I worried about the detector. Kept my attention up for the slightest tingle of accidental particle ingestion.
From the Archives:
Primaflora’s Journey
She wasn't even sure how long they had been here. It was still winter, still cold outside, and the winds that penetrated this sheltered wing of the castle held an edge of ice.