It didn't seem so long ago that London was fairly understandable. Smog. Filth. Rain. Poverty. Whores. Criminals. The lot of it. Things were, no doubt, much better now. Magic was more sustainable than industry. Better for the respiratory system. The water wasn't full of shit and cholera. Poverty was still a thing, of course, but it was more manageable to be poor when you didn't cough blood. Criminals had, for now at least,...

On the first day of the week I dated Nat She recited Sylvia Plath and said I'm hot as hell I told her fucking is a form of art, At which I truly do excel But though I let her feel me up All I gave her was a kiss On the second day of the week I dated Kay Who thought I'd be Rimbaud to his Verlaine I told him a season in Hell might still be ok If it was filled with hung and horny men But though I let him feel me up All I gav...

Her hands squeeze parts of me already too tightly held in place by my attire. She grins, tongue still in my mouth, feeling how wet I am. "I want to eat your ass," I blurt out, immediately suffering at least two aneurysms. Why did I say that? I don't eat ass. I have no idea if she's into it. What I meant is I like her so much I would do it. No, that isn't even true. I like her so much I actually, really want to do it. My p...

A Cold Day in Hell Annabel and Stella were sitting on a rock. The plain around was typical hellish grey, a field of ash and stone with an occasional sad excuse for a bush, with more thorns than leaves, clawing its way to life. There was no ashfall today. It was frigid, as usual, but this was a decent spot. No smell of sulphur and the ground was almost entirely bone-free. The plain ended abruptly ahead, where a vertical cl...

August 30, 1782 - Paris I got into an argument today at the university. I defended the value of alchemy, which most of my peers view as a relic, surpassed by modern science. It may well be so. Yet I can't help but note a lot of them are also devout Christians. And what is God's creation if not a great alchemical work? What is the Creation of Man if not transmogrification, the transmutation of clay into living flesh? It is...

Allie checked the address against the details in the online form to confirm she was at the right place, and rang the bell. The door buzzed open almost immediately. Someone was waiting. She checked her phone; it was 9 in the morning. Once it felt weird to have a morning shift at this job, but she was used to it by now. In the elevator, she checked herself in the mirror. She was wearing a pair of jean shorts that just barel...

Finally, we're alone. It took some orchestration, but for once, all my carefully laid plans came to fruition. I sit on the desk in my best imitation of being cool about it. The school is empty despite my heart jumping at every sound, real or imagined. "Aren't you a little overdressed?" you ask. God, you're daft. Yes, I'm wearing fishnets under my skirt and a choker to study for the team project. Maybe I also just forgot t...

1. The risen island The island was fucking ugly. Just a pile of mud and rocks north-west of the Carolinians, it was easy to believe it had been ignored by civilisation, forgotten and left alone by humans for centuries. Yet, their rapidly put together expedition had hurried there via old airplanes and older boats. There were two good reasons for this. The first was that the island had not been there a month ago. That in it...

Most people tend to close their eyes Heads bowed in deference to God Mumbling, hoping they've been heard. If I prayed, my gaze would be fixed upon the skies You see, I think a prayer's kind of like giving head I would not shut my eyes and look within my soul I would demand more than a sign Just like my tongue, apostle of your cunt Preaches the gospel of your body And in return demands your moan, your scream, your pant. Pr...

Soon, these footprints will be covered by the snow And my heart grows as quiet as the music of its fall The curtain soon to fall upon the show One memory remains, clearest of them all. I remember cobblestones, wet after the rain. Water puddles like mirrors of moonlight Some port, so long ago, so far away A girl who sang all through the night. All she ever gave me was the shadow of a smile With it, I weaved a better, unliv...

The army, and the large train of accompanying parties that followed it like birds that pick a dragon's scales clean, or perhaps like carrion birds trailing an injured animal, moved slowly. But there was so much to do that the movement was constant, in every direction, like an indecisive avalanche. I spent the entire first day lying on an ox-driven wagon that I had climbed on to avoid walking, my ass still in pain. I had n...

I saw her enter the office as if through a cloud of smoke. She moved towards my desk, a vague spectral figure in burgundy, her heels clicking against the cheap tiles, and I decided it was probably best to extinguish my cigarette. The smoke dissipated. “These things will kill you,” she said, her lush voice somehow familiar. She was very short, but her cold blue eyes held authority. She had the austere, wavy hairstyle of a...

I arrived at the village of Weir with my meagre belongings stuffed in a bag, clutching Lord Ledley's letter in my breast. I tried to ask the carriage driver for directions to the estate, but he had left almost before I set foot on the ground. A passing woman was kind enough to point me towards the path that led out of the village and into the forest. Following it would eventually take me to the river Auber, where the Ledl...

November 3, 1937. I’ve arrived at the house. I admit it’s in much better condition than I expected it to be – it’s old and dusty and the electricity is erratic, but other than that it’s quite impressive. I had no idea Uncle Jedediah had such means. The furniture alone must be worth a small fortune, and I haven’t even delved into the library. The solicitor’s letter said I should not throw anything away before getting it ap...

Rodry took out Sylmi's letter and set it next to her own blank paper. It had felt weird going into that little shop to buy writing supplies, but no one had spared her a second look. She was used to trying to attract attention and it had never been particularly difficult. Getting to feel unassuming now and then was somehow comforting. She knew it pretty much by heart but started reading to plot out her reply. *** Dear Rodr...