The living night
Not mere darkness, but a weight upon the eyelid of heaven — stars without comfort, like tears that refuse to fall.
A book after compline, when lamps are low
The Light of
the Living Night
The field lieth void; the moon withholdeth her countenance. Needle and thread labour where thrones delay — yet silence answereth as one that mourneth, and I have not strength to comfort it.
descendUnder the veil of a thousand tears
Colours of the mantle, not the market
Ultramarine for her cloak's fold, rose for what lieth nearer the pulse, linen for mercy's edge, gold sparingly as a halo — all upon pitch where the host of heaven wandereth, and we below remember our dead.
Embroidered speech
Finite verbs and ancient hypotaxis: the tongue bent backward that the heart might go forward, though it goeth weeping.
Vigil without triumph
Queens keep watch while kings feast; laughter ringeth hollow against the slain. Here is no boast — only the long holding.
Verses from the vigil
I — the field before compline
“The field stretcheth black beneath a moon that hath forgotten how to shine. Torches gutter in the distance like the last breaths of dying men. From the castle drifteth faint laughter — drunken, careless, obscene against the silence of the slain.
— Chapter I, The Queen's Vigil
II — Lilian (her voice cracking, but trying for steel)
Brother.
If thou must wed,
then wed a woman who knoweth thy grief.
Not one who will try to cure it.
One who will sit beside thee in the dark
and ask for nothing but thy breath.
— Chapter IV, The Wedding Decreed
III — The Queen's Lament
“I keep the watch where no watchman hath watched before.
The stars are blind eyes upon a blind heaven,
and I am the only one who seeth them weep.
What profit hath vigilance when the watcher himself falleth to silence?
— Chapter VII, The Queen's Vigil
IV — The Needle's Thread
“Thread by thread, the veil is woven.
Not by craft, but by necessity —
for the dark knoweth no other art.
Each stitch is a prayer unsaid, each knot a vow broken long ago.
— Chapter IX, The Seamstress of Shadows
V — What the Moon Remembereth
“The moon remembereth not her office,
yet she suffereth the tides to obey her forgetfulness.
So do we, who remember all,
obey the silence that hath no memory of us.
— Chapter XII, The Queen's Vigil
From the free chapters on Substack — voices from the outer realm.
From the free chapters on Substack
Readers compare it to Shakespeare
Real comments from readers who found Chapter I on Substack. No stock praise, no invented lines.
“Someone said this reminded them of Shakespeare and I can see why. Thank you so much for sharing your work. Looking forward to see more.”
“This reminded me of reading Shakespeare in school. I will surely have to brush up on it and read it again.”
“Gosh, I love this blend of Shakespeare language mixed with a fairytale vibe/setting.”
“The first part felt like I was reading a Shakespeare play.”
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The Light of the Living Night
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