Beneath Ceaseless Skies | Traces by A.E. Decker
Size / Zoom My master keeps my memories in a carved stone box tucked in a pocket of his silver-foam coat. I know where it is. I know where everything is. That’s why my master keeps me. He’s a great lord of his kind. Sometimes, when he’s pleased with me, he’ll open the box and let a memory slip out. It’s never much. A trickle of laughter. The profile of a face. The pieces settle into my mind, but never close enough for me to see the picture they should make. If I had that—one picture—I could find my way back to the world I walked before my master claimed me. The sun shone there. ...
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