My ghost is trapped in this bedchamber, much as I was in life. It had been my sanctuary, filled with sumptuous fabrics and exotic decor. In death, I understand the lie. We have all been trapped, dragonflies caught in golden amber. Just as my daughter will be, someday, by someone.

What she did? What she did?! My dear sister, she was a child. Nora didn’t do anything, nor did your despised Lady Lobar, nor did any of the women you’ve so eagerly watched executed. This cruelty is so foreign to the sympathetic character I know you to have. Well. If you won’t have mercy for these girls, at least be horrified for the crimes they’ve endured and do whatever necessary to assure you never suffer the same fate.

The Pull of the Herd By: Suzan Palumbo My doeskin calls to me from under the woollen blankets in the cedar chest at the foot of our bed. Diya murmurs beside me, eases back to sleep. I cling to her, try to calm the panic welling in my chest by inhaling her cardamom scent. The […]

The aquarium is different every time I die. Exhibits reshuffling like a deck of cards. The blood loss, though, that’s reliable.

There were more than a few of the planks that could become chairs, but Lucas passed them by. None of them were suitable for the likes of Lord Adelard. The vampire wished to appear powerful. There was only one kind of wood in the cellar that fit that description. He squeezed back, back, back, into the furthest reaches, where once mice and rats might have made a home, back before the rats and mice had found themselves in stewpots and on skewers.

Would you give up your throne to sit by the fire? Would you hold a baby over it? Would you empty the chamber pots of heaven when you hold rightful claim over the highest throne in the room, as the …

27. Parsifal confessed to me that she has never dreamed of Valis. Not once. In her youth, she learned of the city in a book: a philosophical dialogue where a poet, a knight, a musician, and a madman argue about the nature of reality while awaiting the arrival of a fifth person. Near the end, the madman recounts the story of Valis, which the others think is nonsense. Parsifal disagreed, and the city quickly became an obsession (she herself used the word 'obsession'). She said all this while pacing back and forth, refusing to look me in the face until the end.

On the island of Manhattan, there’s a building out of time. I can’t tell you where it is, exactly. It has an address, of course, as all buildings do, but that wouldn’t mean anything to you. What I can tell you is that the building is called The Oakmont.

They have never fought about it. “It’s your body,” her husband says, and means it. Only sometimes, when they’re out walking, a little girl will careen across their path roaring like a giggly tyrannosaurus, and he falls silent. “What’re you thinking about?” she asks, before she learns not to.

The glass bottles are caked with so much grime you can’t see what’s in them anymore. It’s better that way because you don’t think you’d be able to do what you need to, if you could. You fish the knife out of your canvas bag, and a lighter with just enough fluid for one more flash of fire. This is your first time—but you’ve seen your mother do the same thing countless times before. Before she made her first mistake. Before you were forced to take her place.

In the land that is now Malaysia, there once was a tribe of monkeys called the Mawahs, whose king was appointed by King Solomon to be the Raja of the jungle. Raja Mawah built himself a throne on the south bank of the Perak River and ruled the jungle fairly.