The Guardian

There are certain avenues in this world. They are easy to find and hard to escape. They offer momentary diversion from time, a retreat to ages past. And there are doorways there, plain and unadorned – portals best left closed to modern man. The balustrade windows hide the wrought iron cages within that keep pandemonium at bay.

Peque knows this. It is why he stands guard. He has taken the place of his father and a long line of fathers before that. His charge is to ensure the safety of idle wanderers who find themselves, ignorant of the danger, ambling onto this road to damnation. They are baited by the romance of the surroundings, enticed by the kitsch and the quaint. These soon to be lost souls are searching for the uncommon experience and Peque’s job is to guide them elsewhere.

He stiffens as a sharp breeze passes his way. It swirls about him before moving on. It is the Midnight Season. Peque is prepared for the coming terrors but he has been on watch for several days without rest. He looks to his partner’s post and questions, “Where the hell is that dwarf with my coffee?”


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