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“The blackout is absolute. But the Strait of Veils glows. Lanterns sway on chains strung between steeples. Candles bloom in alcoves like ghost-white lilies. A luminous fungus—star-moss—creeps up the sides of buildings in phosphorescent veins. The air is a stew of incense: myrrh, opium, embalming resins, and the cold ghost of crematoria ash. Sound is its own sonic mire: bells tolling, chants rising, street-preachers bellowing. Nearby, choirs are perpetually pitched in prayer; elsewhere, in scream-shacks tucked behind prayer halls, penitents are perpetually flayed.”
― Raptoraem :
― Raptoraem :
“He turns to the others. “We have clipped our wings long enough for this gutter state. Drachenherz offers protection, reach—a seat at the table. Leave him in the dirt. We can still fly.”
“Show me,” Mordiger says.
Drewe stares.
“Go on.” Mordiger smiles, a tepid reflex turned terrifying. “Fly.”
― Raptoraem :
“Show me,” Mordiger says.
Drewe stares.
“Go on.” Mordiger smiles, a tepid reflex turned terrifying. “Fly.”
― Raptoraem :
“The lantern-glow refused to touch him.
He drank it, devoured it, made of himself an avatar of negative space. For an instant the girl thought she saw a crown of black iron and twisted silver cresting a skull whose eye-sockets ran deep as the Pit.
He stepped forward.”
― Raptoraem :
He drank it, devoured it, made of himself an avatar of negative space. For an instant the girl thought she saw a crown of black iron and twisted silver cresting a skull whose eye-sockets ran deep as the Pit.
He stepped forward.”
― Raptoraem :
“The door is locked. The city stays outside with its ash, its sorrow, its dead, sealed under acid-green skies.
Mordiger’s mind follows none of it now. He is looking at Vira and seeing an entire day’s worth of pressure undone by the simple, solid fact of flesh.
“Let’s see what indulgences we can afford,” he says. “Strip.”
― Raptoraem :
Mordiger’s mind follows none of it now. He is looking at Vira and seeing an entire day’s worth of pressure undone by the simple, solid fact of flesh.
“Let’s see what indulgences we can afford,” he says. “Strip.”
― Raptoraem :
“You can't convert us. We're already damned.”
― Raptoraem :
― Raptoraem :
“Bargain?” he repeated. “With men who barter with our bones? Tfu.”
Pitbound made that sound to ward off wickedness. Between the Monster’s teeth, it sounded like wickedness answering back.”
― Raptoraem :
Pitbound made that sound to ward off wickedness. Between the Monster’s teeth, it sounded like wickedness answering back.”
― Raptoraem :
“From its central hub, Refugium’s five Straits spread like a broken star.
The city grew into itself, layer upon layer, each one soaked in fritzing neon and oilslicks. To the west: the Strait of Coal, steelworks exhaling black smog. To the north: the Strait of Silks, avenues hung with fairylights and chrome. To the south: the Strait of Stone, tin-jacketed tenements in umber sprawl. Eastside, the Strait of Gold—glittering wealth laid over bone-deep poverty. And wedged between, south by southeast: the Strait of Veils, cathedrals jigsawing into pagodas, misted waterways, monuments gone soft with rot.
At the center, the Pit yawned. Depth without end.”
― Raptoraem :
The city grew into itself, layer upon layer, each one soaked in fritzing neon and oilslicks. To the west: the Strait of Coal, steelworks exhaling black smog. To the north: the Strait of Silks, avenues hung with fairylights and chrome. To the south: the Strait of Stone, tin-jacketed tenements in umber sprawl. Eastside, the Strait of Gold—glittering wealth laid over bone-deep poverty. And wedged between, south by southeast: the Strait of Veils, cathedrals jigsawing into pagodas, misted waterways, monuments gone soft with rot.
At the center, the Pit yawned. Depth without end.”
― Raptoraem :
“Beauty will never be among Stryx’s virtues. She belongs to the rarer company of faces too strange to ignore.”
― Raptoraem :
― Raptoraem :
