The thing about being a Nightwalker is:

You have to face the terror.

Visceral, pounding blood. Bones that crack beneath the weight of too much adrenaline. An impending knowledge that you, among these toothy tombs, are as strong as a twig against a mighty wind.

You are a Nightwalker. One who walks through the dreams of the despairing. Who can clamber up, and down—move among the dwelling horrors of the twilight hour.

A Nightwalker sees a nightmare.

And he can’t look away.

A Nightwalker, in order to survive, must keep moving. Must keep burning. Must keep fighting.

You must face the terror.


Perish. Continue reading “Nightwalker”

Scar Marks

Pantings are so easily accepted. The marring of canvas so readily displayed as art. Reds and blues and purples and blacks. Hundreds of colors, mimicking life. All of it considered a masterpiece.

Why is the scarring of a canvas so readily accept, yet we reject our owns scars as art? Continue reading “Scar Marks”

Fire in the Snow


It was the only sound in this white wilderness. The only sound the snow allowed, and only because the snow could not stop it.


The sound of boots against snow.

Coming closer.

And when I turned to find the source, I found it.

I found him.

There are many kings in this world, and I’ve seen most of them.

But none compared to him. Continue reading “Fire in the Snow”

Royal Scars

“You know, you don’t have to hold onto my hand like this. I’m not running away.”

“I don’t trust you.”

I scoffed. “At this point, it’s not really about trust. You destroyed my ship. I can’t leave this Godforsaken hellhole without a ride. And, since you’re the only option, I’m not letting you out of my sight anytime soon.”

The man looked at me, his half-scarred face stoic. Steady as a battleship. “You’re a thief. I don’t trust you,” he reiterated.

I sighed. “Yeah, I’m a thief. Not a moron. Not a murderer. Not suicidal. Holding my hand is unnecessary. I won’t be leaving this planet without you. I can’t.

But it seemed my words were lost on the prince. Ignoring my claims, he held tightly to my left hand.

Once more, I sighed.

He was taking this way too seriously.

Continue reading “Royal Scars”