the thumping heels and curses and hood-muffled moans. the limp of a man forced along on broken bones. the gut-thud and the shut up and the brass knocker rapping. the seneschal’s wait and the [res]trained, respectful tapping at his den’s door—Needsay hears…
“he’s been sitting since 6:46am,” they say on the news that night. “a moment ago he spoke, to say ‘please—turn off the lights.’ of course the officials complied . . . “ they go on, repeat how the polÃcia tentatively tried (and…
most of the time, Half goes by he, by human, by handsome, by healthy; it opens doors, you understand, among the white-haired wealthy. but Half can’t palate pale, and loses track of money, and gets angry when asked for his tale, and…
we called it snowscript, because we invented it cold. we didn’t think it’d ever get loose, or what it would do when its habit took hold. this was when winter was weighty, slow-moving, an inertia too strong to oppose with human movement;…
“this is an illusion,” he said. he reached up, and started moving stars. he spoke quietly while he worked, pointing out Venus and Polaris and Mars. his slim hands moved smoothly from the hunter to the lady’s hair, down the dragon’s spine,…
we are legion. we are net-work. we are bound and wound in wisdom taught through time. each one of us alone is no more than tic or tone; together, we make rhythm, resonance, rhyme. you’d divide us. you’d pull one from the…
when we peeled the wallpaper back, we found the old man’s story. he’d written it there, inked in tiny letters, a record of his time as what he called the Quarry. there was little context: no dates, no places, no last names–only…