Books don’t write themselves

Pages full of intentions and chronology encased in linear ink, word to word to word. Pull back the curtain and behold the wizard. Just a non sequitur with a pen and bags under their eyes. The only magic is the pact they made with the gods. when they traded their sleep to learn how to spin... Continue Reading →

Not A Hot Dream: A Necromantic Scene

“Morning, Laddo.” Maccuccio greeted Cyril the same way he greeted her each of his mornings. Cyril was never quite sure what a “laddo” was, but it was said with a smile and gruff upward nod, so she figured it was a term of endearment. Drifting in the cold morning air was the smell of whatever... Continue Reading →

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