The world as we know it has become a history hidden by layers of ash. The great Democracy of the Magistrates has spread itself far and wide. The sound of the anthem can be heard ringing across the desert wasteland. The promise of a world purified of the Red People, peals out from behind the High Magistrate's golden mask. The mantra: civility, justice, strength, follows the metronomic march of the Black Boots as they police the Capital.

Imprisoned as a traitor, Blum’s one comfort is the memory of his beloved Isabelle, whose brutal execution haunts him in his waking hours and dreams. As the inferno burns within him, Blum makes an unholy pact, denouncing his mortal soul for an opportunity at vengeance.

However, as his quest for revenge wages onward, he realizes that the price of his soul may not be enough to redeem her.

EXCERPT

I dreamt myself inside a metal jar. A small space penned in on all sides by sleek iron walls. If you were looking in at me you would have seen me very small towards the bottom, pressing myself up against the cold enclosure. From outside I imagined it looked much like a vase or even a metal tin curving up at the top and coming to a fasten with a large moldy cork.

After being in the jar for some time, I reached into my ear and pulled a string of thin wire from my brain. It was a sticky substance that glowed neon blue in the darkness. I wove it into a tangled web. I pulled fine strands of memories from my ear, like a spider issuing the sap of its abdomen into the fine thread of its tapestry, its life’s work. I sat alone as I knitted the faces of loved ones long dead and places destroyed. I sealed the corners with my tears and strung it from side to side in the small vessel.