Utopia stands as the death of hope. – Spanner Kinmuto, Civilization’s Demise "He’s in here.” Lya stooped through the doorway into the wan lighting inside. Whatever technology the Discord used, whatever coating on the windows that muted the natural light of the sun, it was no wonder people were depressed. “What is his testimony?” “The usual: nothing brings him pleasure – he has lost his enterprise.” Lya rolled her eyes internally at the word. “Enterprise” had derived from th

"I mean to speak to the hellcat that gave me this!" Malchus almost shouted, pointing to a purpling bruise that had begun to darken his cheek. "My friend has misspoken," Jameson soothed. "He means to speak to the young maid who is the eldest child of your master." "A fiery one, she is," the servant nodded, still a bit offended, "but I will take issue with the gentleman call

“You understand that this is our opportunity.” Several voices from nearby tables erupted into murmurs of assent as the barmaid approached with another round of drinks. With the wan and flickering lamps scattered around the windowless cavern, shadows danced across the faces of the gathering, rendering their aspects almost ghoulish. “No one has heard from or seen the Duke in weeks,” the man continued, his graphite gaze flashing as he turned to connect with each member of his sm

"Tony Garner, I'm starting to think that you're more trouble than help these days," Jerome accused slyly as the pair seated themselves at the small table in Marcel's bar. Stunned, Tony looked up from the tablecloth and into the face of his friend. "What are you talking about?" stammered the younger man, confused as to what would have incurred such an accusation. At the look on Tony's face, Jerome let out a boisterous laugh and patted Tony on the shoulder. "Haven't we agreed t

"What is truth?" The question never holds an easy answer. Aylee Hembry had thought the idea simple - there were people you could trust and there were people you couldn't. In her world, the distinction seemed obvious. Honest? Her family, her merchant father, the local smith and most of the farmers. Dishonest? The miller, the saloon patron, and her father's rival merchant clan - the Lorne family. All of them. Simple maybe while she stands in her familiar surroundings, with her

Marissa Erinson grew up in rural South Carolina in the era before Prohibition. In her world, people of every variety interacted and enjoyed a relatively peaceful society. Sure, she had heard of the racial strains that had existed in her parents' generation - and still existed outside her insular community - but she had never really encountered them. Until at 18 years old, Marissa - the shyest of shy girls - took a risk and moved to big-city St. Louis to work in the bookstore

As Marissa approached the bookstore, she squinted against the dark. The gas lanterns never provided enough illumination to make out the faces of strangers, and she seemed to have more problem than most in discerning sights from a distance. The fact shocked her, then, that as she slid off of her bike and began to walk it toward its home, she easily recognized the tall, broad-shouldered form of Tony Garner, silhouetted against the path light. Though she tried to be beyond obse

Seating herself in the comfortable chair, Barbara adjusted her trousers to remove the inconvenient twist that always seemed to restrain her movements. Wearing pants added a lot of ease to her life, but sometimes she recognized the benefits of wearing woman's garb. Skirts felt cooler and didn't constrict, but pants made moving around so much easier. Barbara pulled open the file drawer and retrieved her work for the day, then grabbed her to-do list from the shelf where she alwa

She had expected so much that the scene before her was a disappointment. Most of the people in Calloway's appeared to be normal, unimpressive people. Sure, Marissa had never seen a woman wear a dress that dipped quite so low in both the front and the back, but she recognized the flapper style from dresses she had seen on the streets. The men wore very sharp suits, nicer than those she usually encountered near the university, and almost everyone smoked long cigarettes which th

From several yards away, Tony watched the unfolding events with a mix of annoyance and concern. He had left the stupid girl at the edge of the park, but as he turned to make his way home, the new voice had arrested his movement – the voice of trouble. "Marissa?" Tony heard Sam Lincoln call, and the sound sent a chill down Tony's spine. How had the girl, in town only a few days, found so much access to danger? Tony wanted to grab her and shake some sense into her. Innocent wit

As he peered at the young woman weaving her way past the gas lanterns that lit the plaza, Alistair Galloway marveled at how easily he, if he had already received the go ahead, could have taken her out at that very moment. She hurried, head down, across the deepening Missouri twilight, heedless of the shadows that swallowed her where she passed between the streetlamps. Alistair felt a strange relief that Angus had chosen him to kill the girl. Too many of Alistair's coworkers

A brisk wind had whipped up dancing, swirling, through the courtyard. It grabbed the young woman's scarf and twisted it toward the sky. With a quick hand, she grasped it just as it came loose from her neck. From under a nearby lamppost, a shadow detached from the pole and began to stroll toward her. The young woman shivered. Though she didn't notice any specific dangers, she had never ventured into that particular area of town after dark. Sure, some of the speakeasies in the

"Try not to associate bodily defect with mental, my good friend, except for a solid reason." With the wan lightbulb that flickered overhead, Kaĉjo had to squint to make sure he had read the words correctly. "What is this?" he demanded. Lya turned to see what he held, and she recognized the grey canvas cover with faded blue lines of her favorite book. "It's David Copperfield by Charles Dickens." With a scoff, Kaĉjo shook his head. "I know what it says it is, but it's not," he

Mendilya Kirksey was born under unusual circumstances - at least for her time. Her mother isolated herself, nursed herself through a pregnancy, went to a midwife, and delivered the child in a quiet, secluded room. So, unusual. Fiara Kirksey did not report her pregnancy to the local authorities, as required by law. She didn't let them extricate the fertilized egg and transfer it to an artificial womb. The child didn't spring into existence in a lab, a result of egg harvesting