Tag Archives: Historical

Beast of Burden Ch. 02

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Early in the 17th century, the wife of an Ottoman is brought low by a curse

The thrilling conclusion!

An old commission for one of my patrons that was a lot of fun to work on – lots of historical details to research and try to integrate :)
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Over 100 of my as yet unreleased stories can be found on my Patreon at: https://www.patreon.com/markgraham

Dreams flowed through Emine’s mind as she wavered between wakefulness and sleep.  She felt disconnected from her body, frustrated with her inability to influence the images shuffling through her mind.  Her awareness was smothered by the remnants of her slumber.…

Beast of Burden Ch. 01

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The meal was eaten in silence but the barely repressed anger of the host filled the room as one harried servant took the place of many.

 

At the head of the table the host sat on a lowered, cushioned couch, his back utterly straight as he glared at his food.  Despite the small size of the room and the meager trappings, the meal itself was rich.  Plates of fruits lay in an elegant pattern between bowls of thick, rich stews.  Two long baskets of bread edged the table and a large pot of scented rice dominated the center.

 

Spiced coffee steamed to the side of the guest’s plate. …

The Pact

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Set against the backdrop of 1873, a young man learns the dangers of asking for your hearts desires.  For some forces and dark and enjoy the folly that follows such requests.  The young man’s wish comes with a heavy price that not only he must pay.

A single bead of sweat crept from beneath the band of Little Joe’s hat, burrowing through caked-on dirt until it worked itself down into a muddy afterthought.  The young man rubbed the back of his grimy hand against his cheek, smearing the streak and wiping away bits of dry earth.  He squinted up at the sun while he pushed the heavy plough behind the family’s old, tired draft horse. …

The She-Wolf

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CHAPTER 1

 

Richard sat on a marble bench inside the courtyard.  A warm breeze ruffled the small trees surrounding him.  He sat, back straight with his hat sitting on his knee.  A dark walking stick leaned against his leg – a gift from his father when he was younger.  Here and there little birds flitted through the slightly overgrown topiary, singing as they did.  The entrance to the asylum loomed before him.  The wings of the building spread out east and west, turning north so he couldn’t see the ends of them.  The massive, three story building sat on over forty acres of land.…