“How many are left?” One of the men asked Ignatius, only just entering the chamber. Ignatius paused. His face remained expressionless under the smudges of oil and grime that smeared him; the thick layers of his parka heaved at the chest as he tried to catch his breath. Eventually, he rested his bloodshot eyes on …
The quickened footfalls of Ignatius rattled through the air as he scurried through Anchorhead Station. He travelled through halls devoid of any light only to be intermittently saturated with a grievous red glow, which emanated from pulsating crystals hanging overhead. The wail of the foghorn cried in rhythm, drowning out the panicked cries of men …
There was a rapid knock on the door. The noise rattled through the room with such intensity that it jolted the foreman awake from his boredom-induced—and alcohol assisted—stupor. But before he could rise to his feet, Ignatius was already at the door. “Do you have the results?” He asked before he even had the door …
Continue reading Nocturnes: 01.2 — The Prim and Proper Raven
“For I knew that the King in Yellow had opened his tattered mantle and there was only God to cry to now.”― Robert W. Chambers, The King in Yellow The frozen tundra extended to the horizon in all directions and further beyond. Its sweeping landscape of white dunes smothered by a snowstorm that endured relentlessly, …
Continue reading Nocturnes: 01.1 — The Prim and Proper Raven
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