“Were you followed?” the man in the hood asked cautiously. His voice was low, hardly a whisper. Ambrose barely made out the words against the ruckus behind them.

“I took the path through Maydrick’s Forest like you said, sir. I lost them at the river.” Ambrose replied. His jacket was still damp, cool to the touch. He helped himself to a napkin and dried his face. He peeled over his shoulder at dr...

The hunt for a man named Marcellus began the morning after the year’s first full moon. The rumors had spread swiftly, and soon, word of his horrid actions would spark outrage amongst the masses.

As the people awaited the announcement from the Emperor, the central city square of everyday living was already swelling. Streets of the metropolis were littered with lower-class peasants, selling fresh f...

So marched forth the assemblage of native naysayers to the commencement of the dismal, Cimmerian forest ahead—a forest no man or woman or child walked about willingly. For it is there in that forest that yields nonstandard auras and supernatural deities worshipped by village sons and daughters ostracized from the very village with which they came. These tall, leafless oaks, once ever-plenty with c...

The dinner she prepared sat cold as the candle’s flame danced idly between the two bubbling glasses of champagne—the pool of melted wax an indicator of the time that had passed. She stood against the dining-room wall, not too far from the table of uneaten food, and found herself staring at the tiny bead of fire. No thoughts entered her mind as she breathed calmly, staring bleakly at the candle lig...

He sips the small plastic cup of apple juice that came with his morning breakfast and places it back on his tray. He stabs a couple pieces of scrambled egg and slowly raises the fork to his mouth before he hears the door close behind him.

“Morning dad.” a voice says; feet shuffle along the floor. He doesn’t have to see to figure out who it is, he recognizes the voice.

“Hey kiddo, how are yuh?” ...

On the morning of July 17, 2005, Michael Jeffries walked somberly through the door of Room 319 of the Augusta County Courthouse. His orange prison suit was bright, and his ankles were fettered to a foot-long chain. Hands together and wrists locked by cold-steel cuffs, Michael paced forward until he reached the seat next to his attorney, Margaret Matthews.

“Good morning.” Margaret said, noticing M...