Dear Readers, Next up: the final chapter of Book IV from the Chronicles of the Mythic Cartographer. For those just joining, this series follows Dr Elena Delange—a once-cautious anthropologist whose research into myth takes a dangerous, visceral turn. Each book dives deeper as her world collides with legends made real, forcing her to survive, adapt,…
Tag: dailyprompt
The COMC Files: The Priest & The Billionaire.
I barely have time to kick off my heels, pausing in the dim hallway to breathe in the hush that always feels a little haunted after a night with the Boswells. I’m savouring the moment: free, for as long it lasts, from other people’s loyalties or longing. London is a purr outside my windows, rain…
The COMC Files: King’s Gold
Old Foxes and City Spring I set the burner on the counter beside my forgotten groceries. Two hours. The old Fox doesn’t waste time. I strip off my coat, catch my reflection in the hall mirror—hair still wild from travel, shadows under my eyes that haven’t lifted since Romania. My body carries the toll: months…
The COMC Files: Flash-back&forth
The Visitor Spring in London is a redrawing of boundaries. Green creeps up the ancient plane trees in Regent’s Park, daffodils thick in the shadier corners. I move through it all half-ghost, hands clasped behind my back, ignoring my vibrating phone, stopping to watch the dogs or ferrying trays of coffee back to my armchair…
The COMC Files: Update
London, when the cab spits me out by my townhouse, is grey and humid, the air smelling of diesel, toast, and river. My feet strike the pavement with purpose, but there’s a tremor beneath every step: exhaustion, awe, the shock of clocks resuming. I unlock the door, inhale the familiar scent of home—old books, ground…
The COMC Files: London
Book of Burned Bridges The Heathrow arrivals hall is a fluorescent dawn after so many nights of myth. I stand still just past the immigration gates, letting the static-pated crowd flow around me—families, suits, tourists blinking at arrival boards. I am unaccompanied: Tarmo had cajoled, pleaded for me to board his Zurich-bound jet, but I’d…
The COMC Files: The Pivot
The Living Thread A pale sun claws over the ridge, sending light in trembling bands through the narrow window, gilding the swirl of smoke in the hearth. I take my coffee black—the only appropriate colour for a woman straddling the border of legend—and stack my notebooks, pencils, and a battered digital recorder. The villagers have…
The Myth Mapping Protocol
Zurich: Trust Amellal, 4:59 AM Tarmo leaves the blue-lit command centre on autopilot, muttering something to Sandi about “ten minutes.” The corridors outside feel colder, emptier—a different planet from the round-the-clock surveillance inside. He bypasses the kitchenette, shuffles into the locker-room showers, and starts the water scalding hot, as if heat and steam could cleanse…
The COMC Files: Blue light
Trust Amellal, Zurich Headquarters The command centre is flooded with blue light and sleep deprivation. Tarmo stands above three monitors—one cycling through riverbank thermal images, another frozen on a grainy satellite view of the Carpathians, a third pulsing with encrypted alerts from half a dozen agencies. His broad, pale face—so often unreadable—now bears twin crescents…
The C.O.M.C. Files 