Beneath Ceaseless Skies #152

The Topaz Marquise
Fran Wilde
Her words made no sense, but neither did the lost hours. I shivered in the warmth of the day. Beyond the window, in the square, I saw a familiar figure in a tattered cloak. Even from a floor up, the smell that greeted me was unpleasant: unwashed hair, perhaps rotting leather. Suddenly, I wanted to escape from my studio and the chill that hung over it.

What Needs to Burn
Sylvia Anna Hivén
When I woke, I found the bullet between my wound and the makeshift bandage. The flesh was already closing where my body had spit it out. I pulled off the bandage and cursed a colorful tirade at Shadow, although I knew it wasn't his fault. People with the magic can't help it sometimes. Things just happen around them, though they might not want it to.

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One Ear Back
Tina Connolly
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From the Archives:
Red Dirt
Ian McHugh
The collective growl of the spinning weighted ropes mimicked the song that had invaded our sleep.