Current novel progress: 20,720 words
Beyond the black wood was an old castle, ravaged by a murder of crows. “The wicked swim below, Kristian,” an old fisherman said, sharpening a set of harpoons. “The sea is dead today, and the air is still.”
By Michael Olea5 years ago in Horror
The clocktower struck six beneath the frozen, ash sky. Factory-grade arachmations crept above the streets of Snowdrift, making a final sweep of the snow-clad alleys before returning to the nearby CORE-powered facility for maintenance.
By Michael Olea5 years ago in Futurism
