A small tangent named TMC. I miss you, first born.

Maybe it’s because of this lost period I’m in, but I find myself missing TMC more and more these days. Missing its familiarity. A good friend, it had been to me for more than five years. I breathed its pages, its stories, its characters. I lived it. And then–I didn’t. 

I found this small piece, sitting in an old file on my laptop. A piece I never used but wrote, no doubt, in order to find my opening chapter. I love stumbling upon old bits like these. Because it reminds me that sometimes you have to write nothing in order to find something. 

 Here’s to many more nothings.

Mortifer’s Lair

Encumbered in the black ooze of his cell, Sean sat as stiff as ice. His wrists were shackled to the wall. He shut his eyes, but they burned.  He breathed deeply, but inhaled only rotting, ripe air.  

Mortifier’s Lair—he detested it. And yet, he had never felt so alive sitting in a cell, miles below the earth.  

Suddenly, a jarring noise pierced his ears. The high shriek of a bird. His heartbeat pumped faster. He knew what that meant. They’d be here in minutes—the stone-faced Black Cloaks primed to obey, to fight, to kill.  “Mortifier,” they’d cry.  “Destroyed,” they’d question. And as Sean scratched his head against the brick wall, he grinned. 

Yes, I destroyed him.  

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