Listening to the fiddler deep down, a soliloquy of ashes in the twilight,speaking in tongues of the damned, dead languages of souls departed.The fiddler had no fingers, just bone—yellowed and polished smooth, clicking, against the strings with every note,...

When she walks on by that is beautiful. With something about her, I cannot ignore. My eyes follow her blinklessly into blinding light. With something about her, I can gaze. Her perfect form eclipses the sunlight, and I am cast...

In the velvet shadow of the midnight hour, I watch the pendulum—that iron tongue of time—slicing through the thick, oppressivesilence of my chamber. It swings with a rhythmic, soul-crushing certainty, a metronome for a heart that beats only in...