The Wolf’s Silence After Tarmo leaves, the room is louder—his absence thickens the air, the old mosaic and high ceilings seeming to absorb and amplify every unspoken word. On the side table, pastries glint under the lamplight: pistachio shine, sheets of syrup stiffening with neglect. Mint tea, untouched, sends up a last drift of steam,…
Tag: grounded magical realism
The COMC Files: Book V
Chapter One — Departure I wake to cool light and absence. The space beside me is empty; only the dent in the pillow remains. On the dresser, a folded sheet in Asdar’s slanted hand: Where eyes don’t see, the heart will be ominously aware. A sigh escapes. I fold the note and stick it on…
The COMC Files: Torrid London, Bosphorus Bound
As soon as the front door closes and Tarmo’s footsteps fade, the hush in the flat deepens. London suddenly vast, the night pressing in like velvet. I remain braced for a moment, the ache of old arguments and unwelcome love still crawling over my skin. Istanbul waits on the table, Tarmo’s scent lingering like a…
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: Limbo
Between Two Worlds Sunlight fingers through tall pines, casting shifting lace onto mossy stones. The sanctuary courtyard smells of woodsmoke, crushed grass, damp earth. Children crouch by the stone gutter, daring each other to touch the cold water. Older women in braided red sashes gather by the spring, their laughter spilling into the mountain air….
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: The Big Brave Wolf
A subtle scrape, the faintest ahem. I startle. Asdar stands just inside the natural arch, one hand braced on stone—habit or ritual, I can’t tell. His silhouette flickers: tattooed arms, copper-blond hair loose, eyes pale and steady in lamplight. I smirk, annoyed but amused. “Damn it, you really do move like a wolf. Are you…
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 C.O.M.C. Files 