Roam Through the Gloam

I steal from the masters. Never things they will miss overmuch- no glass or steel has snuck to my pockets- just trinkets and miscellany. Scraps of root-wood that somehow evade their intended fate in the furnace, ancient coins of clay or gold that sit abandoned in the forgotten reaches of the Gloam; that is the extent of my rebellion. Continue reading “Roam Through the Gloam”