Silverfell
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silverfell.bsky.social
Silverfell
@silverfell.bsky.social
95 followers 160 following 130 posts
Don't mind me, I just tell stories.
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silverfell.bsky.social
All Bobby wants is one direction.

I'm sorry for that joke. I was young and needed the Internet points. The Scion.

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Sounds came to him cotton-wooled. Something was spinning, possibly the ground or maybe his brain inside his skull. If only they could decide on a direction to spin in, then he could be steady on his feet again. He stammered, not because he was trying to say something and couldn’t, but because his mouth started moving and his lungs decided there should be air to go with them. He held his elbows and shivered. The world was twisting out of shape again, and Bobby was surprised to discover that he wasn’t breaking down completely. There was a strong possibility that his temper was in far shorter supply than his fortitude, because after the shaking and sobbing, he was now just mostly angry and wanted to break something. Anything, everything. Bobby was too exhausted to start running again. There was nowhere in his mind that he could hide any deeper, or further from reality. This was reality, and it was awful. Metal growls bounced around the corner. Of course, now that the world was going to hell again, the bikers had decided to put in another appearance. Bobby found himself not caring just how much it all sounded like a pack of metal wolves howling for blood. It was loud enough that Mrs Wong finally focused on something that wasn’t Bobby, just long enough to look over her shoulder to hiss at whatever was coming. By the time she’d focused on Bobby again, her resting smiley face was back in place. She crawled along the wall with splayed arms and legs just like the stuff from late night documentaries about forgotten caves. With a springy jump, she went from wall to sidewalk, landing right in front of him.
November 21, 2025 at 2:44 PM
silverfell.bsky.social
For you today, a gift of cryptic elven lore. The Scion

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Idue shouldered her way past Bobby and the girl. The shadow was nowhere to be seen, but then again, it usually wasn’t until it killed. “Beliar. A true lapdog to the end. These people are our guide and her bodyguard. You will take your toy soldiers and retreat, before I decide you are annoying me.” Beliar’s eyes twitched. Idue definitely couldn’t tell when she wasn’t liked. Not that tact and diplomacy would have served, here. The guy’s most mystical trait was how perfectly he conformed to the evil heel stereotype. He was enjoying his role this afternoon. “I have special dispensation for you, Idue. Your uncle really would like to have a word, and I’ve been authorized to bring you in… regardless.” He raised his hand, made a twisty gesture with his fingers, and brought his arm down quickly. Idue slammed Bobby into the nearest tree, out of the way so that she was the only one hit by the half dozen magic blasts that exploded from the nearby trees. She twitched, and fell, her hands before her face, clawing shut as she struggled to breathe. She curled up like a dying insect, and stopped moving. The pale girl was already sprinting for the treeline, whether to counter-attack from their cover or to disappear, Bobby didn’t care. She fell right by his feet. Immobilized by whatever those blows had been, the powerful glamours elves had evolved as defence mechanisms glitched out. For the first time, he saw her as she truly was. Idue shrank, and her skin turned green-grey. Her chin was pointier and her lips thin and bloodless. Her eyes were twice as wide and much more almond-shaped. Her hair, that glorious copper mane, was completely unchanged.
November 20, 2025 at 9:43 PM
silverfell.bsky.social
I did a thing in this novel where magic is not a "system" like in a video game, but a raw quantum power of nature. It's much weirder than it sounds. Mess with it at your own risk. The Scion.

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On the third night, after thinking of the dragon wing pattern, he started tracing its shapes into his mind. He was sitting with his back against a tree’s massive roots that looked like a tangle of severed legs, with a small pile of rocks before him. He didn’t reach for any power yet, but just practiced forming the shapes. One layer of geometric designs on top the other, he imagined the two triangular shapes in great detail, picturing them as drawn by those lasers line from a disco, floating in the air just above the ground. As with the fire, the broken pattern was obvious, glaring, a rounding of the corner on the right wing. Unlike with the fire, this time he didn’t rush into anything stupid. Bobby held the shape in his mind, and twisted it just so, a little right, removing, reshaping, rearranging until the wing felt right. Complete. The last time, he’d nearly burned the gas stop down. Now, he didn’t reach as eagerly into his power. The magic was there, always there, like part of him was constantly raging against the world. Reaching in with both hands to pull it out had so far gone very, very wrong. All he had to do was breathe it in a little. The pile of rocks, a dozen all told, snapped into a single column, clacking against each other with a sound so sharp it echoed through the trees. Idue grinned happily and moved to pat him over the shoulder while Bobby held the tower of rocks in place, channelling the barest whisper of magic into the shape of wings, making the pattern hold the rocks in place in an impossible tower of mismatched shapes . “That’s amazing, Bobby. We may make a caster of you yet!” and promptly demanded he did it again, at least half a dozen times. Bobby couldn’t remember ever feeling happier.
November 19, 2025 at 3:42 PM
silverfell.bsky.social
This one's from the early chapters, back when the scariest thing was just plain old insanity. The Scion.

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“Bobby, what’s going on? Are you OK, man?” Mike asked, a frowny expression on his face. Bobby understood his friend’s confusion, it wasn’t supposed to go this way. He was supposed to immediately spot the otherworldly nature of the pictures. They were supposed to spend a long chunk of the afternoon pouring over the images, oohing and aahing at each new detail they discovered. Bobby was aware of all this, but simply couldn’t make it real for Mike. His throughs swirled like a storm, each sharper and more painful than the last. He started feeling dizzy from it, like they had hollowed out his brain. It all burst out through his gut and rose to his throat, and was just about to spill out of his mouth and splash Mike with his insanity. Bobby felt light-headed, but not in a weird supernatural, secret-conversation way. He needed to vomit, to cry, to punch something. He needed to expel the things in his head. To exorcise the memory of what he’d seen during his episode yesterday. But he couldn’t, he was holding the evidence right in his hands He looked at Mike, and wasn’t even sure what his own face was doing but his friend’s frown had started morphing into alarm. The damn pictures were still in his hand. Flat rectangles like windows into a place he never wanted to see again. They were real, and made it impossible to ignore the truth of what he had seen. The world spun with each reminder that those weren’t random dogs. That wasn’t a random piece of some random park in a foreign city where they staged sick shit for entertainment. These were the dogs he had seen in his episode yesterday. That was the place with the big tree where the couple was holding their tryst right across from the bench where Bobby had been sitting when the world first went insane.
November 17, 2025 at 2:54 PM
silverfell.bsky.social
Being the least ancient and powerful creature in the room is always annoying. I may have shared a little of this in the past, so here's the whole page. The Scion.

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Bobby counted heartbeats, but grandfather didn’t look like he was about to start laughing. No one jumped out from behind the bushes with candid cameras. Those words, “it’s all real”, rushed through his mind like a light burning through the spectres of insanity. He had known his whole life. He breathed in deep and closed his eyes as the revelation sank in, readjusting his confused memories as the knowledge made its way to his core. Not just for the past week, but through the years. Those little breaks in the pattern of normality he’d noticed around his house over and over again. His mother’s jokes about goblins. The exceptional intensity of her freakouts when a pan went out. She hadn’t just been afraid of the dark when Bobby was out late, had she? He had no idea what a Joro-thing was, but he was willing to bet it was some kind of giant puppetteer bug. And elves, riding bikes and whooping like Indian braves? That was too crazy to have been a real delusion. As his assumptions about what was real shattered one at a time, reality opened up to him. Dominos fell in his head one after the other, squashing the last doubts, but sowing so much uncertainty, and Bobby started getting annoyed. He was sick and tired of being the least ancient and powerful creature in the room, the clueless one who couldn’t rescue his mother. So, he opened his eyes and clenched his fist. He took two steps towards his grandfather. “How old is my mother?” “Bobby, I’m not stupid enough to tell you how old your mother is. Not even in the fanciest of fairy universes.”
November 14, 2025 at 3:16 PM
silverfell.bsky.social
The elven nation and Bobby, they were never going to get along. The Scion.

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With that, finally managing to disentangle himself from his gossamer shroud without tearing it to pieces, Bobby finally stood. On the way past the elf maiden, he had to fight all his instincts to resist taking her in his arms. But he endured, and walked out into paradise. These fancy-dress crazies sure knew how to build a great elf palace. Bobby grumbled as he stomped down the delicate wooden stairs that connected the terraces of their aerial abode. The whole thing was constructed against a granite peak covered in lichen so fluffy that it nearly grew in bushes. Bird song carried with the chill whispers of the wind, and Bobby was looking for a rock to throw at a likely source of the annoyingly soothing chirps when Arbie caught up with him. Grandfather, ever the wily diplomat, waited for Bobby to catch his eye before approaching.
November 13, 2025 at 3:54 PM
silverfell.bsky.social
I'm not writing that kind of novel, but there was very little clothing in the text. I'm kind of proud, kind of concerned. The Scion.

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For the goblins, life went on despite Bobby’s helpless rage. The raiding party celebrated, and then had dinner, which led to more celebration, which led to merriment that landed back into a celebratory mood. By the time the last goblin collapsed in her “Kiss me, I’m Irish” t-shirt, a bottle of Jack Daniel’s in each hand, the sun was already lighting its way up the treeline, and Bobby was exhausted. Since sleep hadn’t been an option with all the loud merriment, he’d spent the night trying to get out of his cage. Brute force didn’t help. His cage was new, strong, and nothing like the old, decrepit rustic prisoner containment TV had led him to expect in these circumstances. There was. No way to topple it, or squeeze past the rungs by bending wood because, surprisingly, it had been made to keep people in by creatures who were good at keeping prisoners. Darkwood was merciless. Bobby could gather magic in small amounts, but it dissipated too quickly, squeezed out of the cage before he could focus any of it.
November 12, 2025 at 5:11 PM
silverfell.bsky.social
A bus stop to rival the test of time. The Scion.

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Just a few corners from Bobby’s house, a fair halfway between their places, stood their bus stop. It wasn’t really actually theirs, it’s just that the line it had once served no longer existed, and people no longer used it. By a fluke of administrative oversight, the awning was still standing. It may well be decades before anything was done to bring it down. Bobby knew of European castles that had stood for less than their little bus stop would endure. Out in plain sight at the side of the street, it granted them complete anonymity. People who didn’t use public transport just avoided it, and those who did gave it an even wider berth since they assumed that the two hooligans hunched over their phones were doing drugs, or talking about communism, or something equally degenerate. Today, Mike was bursting at his skinny seams. He leaned in, his face dissected by a sharp shadow cut by a blade of light from the sagging roof, and grinned. “It’s going down, man. At last, something’s going on in this damn town!” “You mean aside from the stuff going on here every day?” “Bobby, just look at this. Be a smartass later!”
November 8, 2025 at 7:47 PM
silverfell.bsky.social
Some bad days are worse than others. The Scion.

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Bobby stood two steps away from the counter, looking at his mother, panting, holding his left forearm. His mother just maintained that pleasant smile and stood, so gently and slowly that it barely was a movement at all. “Do I need medication, mom? T.. those crazy people who can’t recognize themselves, am I one of them? I’m seeing things again, mom. The pots are off. Why are the pots off? Please help me!” She stepped closer, her eyes on his, her face serene with that smile that said nothing could ever go wrong. Slowly, with that same unhurried grace, she reached for his face. Bobby just stood there, cold shivers lapping at his skin, shorting his spine and leaking out of his pores in a clammy flow. “Mom… say something” It had to be another episode of madness. Callie not exploding over his rude retreat? He closed his eyes. Just as her fingertips were about to brush against his cheek, the pantry door bumped. It was a strong, decisive bump that bent it in the middle before slamming back into place, and it was followed by another, and another, each stronger than the last. Bobby turned to look at the door, and the thought formed in his head that he had to open it. He knew this with powerful clarity, which was strange because Bobby was rarely that certain about anything at all. As he stepped away, his mother gave a frustrated grunt, and took a step back of her own. Bobby caught a glimpse of something moving, crawling over her skin. He tried to focus on it, but Callie’s skin looked clear again. It was just his mother, standing there, waiting for him to step back into her embrace. He just had to take one step and it would all be good. Bobby fought the dizziness, refused to give in to the rushing tide of madness as he had in the park. This time, he stood fast.
November 7, 2025 at 1:46 PM
silverfell.bsky.social
I often say the novel contains "dragons". It's a lie. It's just this one dragon, except we don't know it's a dragon yet. The Scion

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As he watched the lightning trail that his palm left on the lizard’s skin, Bobby noticed that the scales he rubbed were a little less faded than before. What had they locked him in with? The cuddle lizard? It needed to be loved or it wouldn’t shine? Bobby had often doubted his sanity since the start of his adventures, but that thought was too daft to consider. No, this lizard had been locked into a magic-proof prison, not a zero-cuddle zone. And he had been trying to summon magic… he just couldn’t store enough of it. And darkwood really didn’t like magic, did it? So, without guide again, picturing Idue’s tapping foot of judgement, Bobby sank his fingers in the loam just outside the cage, and focused like his life depended on it. Because it probably did.
November 5, 2025 at 2:01 PM
silverfell.bsky.social
Just some mystical butterflies on an grave no one was around to dig. Move it along, no destiny stuff here... The Scion.

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The Might Caliber was perched on it, and he wasn’t even entirely sure that it was the butterfly he’d been followed because it was no longer alone. There were two dozen of the steel-winged, colourful things gliding on and off the marble tombstone. He tried not to scoff. The only thing missing was a giant videogame-style quest marker on top of the whole thing, or a narrator voicing THIS PLACE IS SIGNIFICANT. He walked around the grave to see what was etched on the stone, and naturally it wasn’t mysterious ancient script anymore, but plain old English. A single name: Alistair Corbin.
November 4, 2025 at 2:49 PM
silverfell.bsky.social
There's loving your family, and then there's the really important stuff. The Scion.

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The landscape remained tame, far less murderous than the woods or the mountains. The ground was unnaturally warm, which probably was some weird magical apocalyptic thing that Bobby didn’t care about because it was pretty nice to not have to worry about pneumonia. Bobby’s step faltered. He had been without his mother too long, and he was turning into her. This may be a fate worse than the end of magic. She must be rescued immediately.
November 3, 2025 at 3:26 PM
silverfell.bsky.social
There is, apparently, only one "ancestor" in my entire manuscript about legacy and family sins. I have to fix that. The Scion.

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Bobby was somehow connected to this terrible, priest that spoke like a machine, but with none of the warmth. The Earth people had been slaves, created to execute a purpose he didn’t understand. They had been discarded afterwards, like unwanted tools. Another certainty formed in his mind, from the shadows that often whispered the darkest commentary to his thoughts: the Prime had been the cause of all this. The mysterious work the Earth people had been created to complete, the final calculations, involved Bobby’s ancestors.
November 1, 2025 at 4:32 PM
silverfell.bsky.social
Write what you know, they say. Well, this is what happens when I talk to women, ok? The Scion.

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The girl nodded and extended her hand. Up close, Bobby could see that he may have been wrong about the bikers being human after all. She had pointy ears, and pale skin. There was a halo around her head - no, not a halo. It was the colourful light scatter of transparent wings behind her. Somehow, they came out through her jacket. He’d have to remember to ask about that, if they didn’t eat him. It mattered little. After stopping a bug monster with crazy earth tumours, a demi-human saviour barely registered. “Yes, Scion. We apologise for the delay, but you were hard to track. Your mother’s spells were very eff…” Her eyes were so pretty, wider than they should be, but of the most remarkable deep shade of dark amber, and she was so slender. He recognised the traits from one of the books of folk tales his mother used to read for him. “You… you are a f..” The girls eyes’ slitted shut and her hand curled into a perfect, flawlessly manicured fist. “Oh, hell no.” was what Bobby heard before she punched him out mid-sentence.
October 30, 2025 at 1:12 PM
silverfell.bsky.social
I have but a peasantly "broom". Forgive my lack of Halloween spirit. The Scion.
Just yesterday, she’d thrown a house elf out the window for making too much noise with her broom. Granted, the chambermaid had wings which allowed her to just fly away in a huff, but that hadn’t stopped Bobby from thinking it was a badass moment. He’d often wanted to throw people out of windows. He’d had nothing but puppy eyes for Idue for the rest of the afternoon. It had been almost a month since the council, and Bobby had spent most of his time failing to learn magic, and dodging glittering hunting parties of elven socialites who wanted to be seen being seen with the Scion himself.
October 29, 2025 at 2:15 PM
silverfell.bsky.social
Please accept my humble substitution of "totally". The Scion gets kidnapped. Again.

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If only they hadn’t been so impossibly strong, he’d have totally wiped the floor with them. A single spell would have incinerated them all. Except that Bobby was on his elbows and knees, and he couldn’t breathe, and the goblins had little grips like steel vices. In short order, they had him bound hands and feet. His throat was free to gasp, but he was otherwise completely immobilized. Bobby squirmed on their shoulders as they lifted him clear off the floor and rushed through the forest. These were clearly modern goblins. They wore Baby Gap jeans, and he caught the glow of mobile screens and the glint of original fake jewellery. One had eight oversized rings that spelled “KISS” “THIS” on his fists, and even though their language doubtless derived from ancient tongues that no man had heard in centuries, Bobby could swear that they were saying a lot of “LOL” and “EZ game”.
October 24, 2025 at 2:15 PM
silverfell.bsky.social
I guess breakfast is a Fantasy thing. Belongs to the genre like wizards and dragons, guess. The Scion.

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He made it through the eggs, and was enjoying his second bite of sausage, when his mother completely casually checked in on him. “How are you feeling today? Grandpa was worried about you.” Bobby finished chewing, took another bite, and carefully chomped his way through that too before replying. “I feel fine so far. Yesterday was strange. I felt like I was fainting, saw some weird stuff just before hitting the ground.” “You hit the ground?” “Yeah, must have keeled over on my side and landed face-first.” He massaged his red skin. “My jaw is a little sore.” Her eyes became slits behind which he could see her machinery of revenge process his words. Had grandpa done something? Callie definitely seemed to think so. Then she smiled, and Bobby assumed it was relief. “What kind of strange things did you see?” “Eh, you know. Things. Horror movie stuff, nothing to be worried about. No goblins in the kitchen, mom.” Her laughter rang out clear, sharp, louder than such a delicate frame had the right to project. “In my kitchen? A goblin wouldn’t make it to the door. But I’m glad you checked.” And just like that, the world was all right again.
October 21, 2025 at 2:50 PM
silverfell.bsky.social
The Scion's magic is not like other magics. Even the elves are skeptical.

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“Arboreon, old friend, you come to us with tales of a creature with a suppression field powerful enough to overwhelm your daughter’s magic. That alone requires the equivalent of a nuclear warhead’s worth of aether. Furthermore, you would have us believe this fiend also possesses the control and precision to carry an unwilling prisoner in full flight at the same time? Through solid brick walls?” The generals, fed this clear direction from their leader, muttered in agreement, and then kept on muttering what very likely were insulting doubts about the story they’d just heard. Bobby saw them for the complacent, arrogant children they were. He knew, from the deepest, darkest pit of his fears, that this lot would never be any help.
October 20, 2025 at 12:42 PM
silverfell.bsky.social
The Scion is at the end of his first journey as the final confrontation unfolds.

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“Did you think I had forgiven?”. His mother’s tendrils of weaponized matter burst open in something that looked a little like an anemone and a lot like every nightmare ever. The attack wasn’t directed at him, but he flinched anyways. Idue was there, swords in hand, suddenly appearing where two servitors had been a second ago. She stood in their remains, radiant. Her smile was somehow brighter than her hair, undimmed by the falling dust that servitors became when they died. She bumped his shoulder with the force of a truck, twisted to the right, and was off again to kill things. Surrounded by destruction and chaos, caught in a fight for the lives of all magical creatures Bobby felt more whole than he had in his entire life. “Let me show you the error of your ways.” His mother, in fine tradition, was still sounding more enraged with every word she threw at her enemy. The Void Machine’s hall wasn’t safe for servants of the Prime right now. Looking more like a biblical angel than the Prime itself had, Calypso’s halo of magic strands struck the prime in hundreds of places at once. None were quite as fast as the way the Prime moved or controlled reality, but Bobby understood why the creature hadn’t even tried to move. There were too many to dodge, and so the quantum creature had frozen in place.
October 18, 2025 at 3:46 PM
silverfell.bsky.social
Apparently, there is one loaf in the manuscript, and it's a creepy one too. Serendipitous. The Scion.

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PS - you can't take my high away. I got to use the word serendipitous today.
“Hello there! I mean you no harm!” but they ignored him. When he got closer, he could see they had been just two pools of deeper shadow. He turned to enter the inner garden and his eye caught movement, a swirl like a robe turning a corner inside the main building. Bobby was certain they’d been close enough to hear him earlier, and clearly did not want to be bothered. Still, he’d had enough of being alone. “My name is Bobby. I think Alistair was my grandfather?” No response. No sounds either. The cheerful morning air didn’t seem to make it past the gates. The garden was chilly, but not in a dangerous way. It was just dead, and so Bobby followed the phantom swirls of the ghost monks and entered the building. He walked around and out, circling the small, rectangular building twice to make sure he hadn’t missed anyone. Every time he turned a corner, he thought he saw a figure disappear back into a doorway, or pull back from a window, but every time he looked again, there was no one there. Still, the signs of habitation were clear. Fread was cooling on the kitchen counter, and he helped himself to half a loaf of it, and the bucket in the well dripped when the wind swayed it.
October 17, 2025 at 1:14 PM
silverfell.bsky.social
The novel contains no romance and zero spice, but when a young man meets a bike-riding elven princess, there can only be one realistic outcome. The Scion.

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This was an Idue he hadn’t met yet. She wasn’t being a teacher and she wasn’t punching him in the face. She almost looked like she wanted to talk. “W-what do you mean?” was the best he could manage. He felt pathetic even as the words left his mouth. “I mean I don’t think your shoes could survive the miles per minute of the speedway” Bobby didn’t know what to do with her amused voice and eyebrow. This was in badass rider princess mode. She might be his favourite Idue to date. “Yeah, I’m not going to stay put while the old guys sniff map glue all day.” She seemed to respond to his unfiltered words more positively than when he tried being cool. “OK, let’s go for a ride” It was a simple as that. “But your uncle said…” He wasn’t sure how to put it. Wasn’t she supposed to b e the adult here? “I’ve been charged with teaching you magic by two old men who don’t want us underfoot. I can do that from outside this place, and you look like you could use a ride. What do you say, Scion?” There was something in her attitude that made him think of a cat watching its lunch run for its life. He was pleased that he managed to sound marginally in control of himself.
October 16, 2025 at 1:35 PM
silverfell.bsky.social
Take care of yourselves, especially the noggin' - The Scion.

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His mother was gone. Was she? Could this be an episode like at the park? He never got around to asking her about a history of mental illness in the family. Come to think of it, other than Arbie, he knew next to nothing about his family, which weighed heavily on his mind right now. Bobby was alone, and he had no idea who he could turn to. Archie had no mobile, and his mother’s had been on the kitchen counter when… stuff happened. Did it happen, though? This could all be a relapse into a weird universe that existed nowhere outside of his diseased head. The thought held a dark fascination, because it meant that at least his mother was fine and still taking care of him while he drooled somewhere on a bed, imagining that a monster had kidnapped her.
October 15, 2025 at 2:00 PM
silverfell.bsky.social
Superman is punk rock. My demons are too. The Scion.

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Maybe the creature didn’t actually have a shape as his brain was ready to accept. Maybe the sense of madness its presence incited wasn’t the demon’s fault, but the natural reaction of Bobby’s sense to something that could not be defined by common rules. In short, maybe the demon was imply the ultimate punk rock badass. Terror and confusion were the natural result of limited minds trying to grasp it. Or maybe it was just evil. Its best friend was a cannibal who looked like a girl.
October 14, 2025 at 3:17 PM
silverfell.bsky.social
One day, I'll enjoy writing well-behaved magic and competent people who know what to do with it. Today is not that day. The Scion.

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Completely dissociated from the crowd, he started rearranging each in his brain, picturing what the sphere might have looked like had it been made right, without that messy offset. He often did this with people’s rugs when his mother dragged along to visit strangers for the holidays. Typically, however, when he mentally rearranged carpets, they had the good sense to stay put. The orrery did not. Its central sphere started moving in response to his mental organizing. The machine was porous. It was soaking up… something from him. When the entire thing started spinning around the central sphere, he was pulled out of his daydream. Every planet, every metal circle, every hanging gibbet, anywhere there was an axis, axle, or juncture, turned. The interlocking rings blurred into each other as they spun faster and faster. There was a whine of resistance from the air and several joints started glowing from the heat. Bobby took a step back, scared. He’d stopped focusing on the damn thing, but he felt that warmth on his skin, the same as when the Mrs Wong creature had attacked him. The measuring device was doing its job, absorbing all the stuff that had created the tumours back then. Bobby didn’t know how to stop it. Except that wasn’t accurate either. The thing inside him that roared with rage didn’t want to stop it. It wanted to push, and push, and give the device more of what it demanded. Smoke started rising from every joint in the orrery, which had become a shrill buzzsaw of metal and stone that wobbled on its pedestal. This was definitely more than a single inch.
October 13, 2025 at 5:05 PM
silverfell.bsky.social
Before Bobby ever heard the word "Scion", he was just mad at his family for ruining his life.

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Just as he was starting to find some peace in the familiar patterns of the view, a deep chuckle rolled over the landscape and stole his attention. It was like that, grandfather’s laugh. It actually rolled. It had energy that went beyond sound waves - infectious, lively as it danced through the notes of the beautiful, lazy day in which he had betrayed his grandson. The old man, naturally, was late. He knew it, and his nephew knew it, but even then he kept Bobby waiting to flirt with a woman half his height and a third his age, which had been set to old movie wizard forever. The girl dithered and blushed, and Bobby snorted. It wasn’t her fault, it was hard not to get caught up in grandfather’s enthusiasm. He looked away so he wouldn’t start smiling, and to let the old man did his thing. The park was busy today, and the birds were chirping the performance of their lifetimes. All around, couples walked hand in hand. Some young, some older, all touching shoulders and elbows. He pictured their whispers coiling to form intricate filigrees over their heads, binding them together with slivers of hope, like a tapestry that embraced all.
October 12, 2025 at 5:04 PM