The painting

When she was a little girl, Tisandra had asked her father about The Fool’s Hope. Or more specifically, the ferocious painting of it that hung in his study: a stubborn …

Hitting the gas

He tipped the bottle to his lips, and the taste, barely anything on his tongue but flavorless gasoline, filled him. Made him whole. He felt his throat warm, felt his …

The Rendezvous

It had been like the days before. A strange unintelligible letter and a single stemless rose, delivered by her handmaiden that afternoon. For a moment she thought the letter to …

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