Dime Novels From Oblivion

Sophie lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling of her cell. Her vacant eyes seldom blinking. She silently counted the number of new webs the spiders wove over the night. The morning sunlight pouring through the solitary window cut into the stone wall cast the gently swaying silhouette of a corpse over Sophie's bed. The body was left hanging from a tree just outside the window by Sophie's brother, the sovereign. He left it close enough for her to reach out and touch. It dangled in the pine needles like a Christmas ornament its state of decay, another reminder to Sophie of how long she'd been confined to the convent. With clockwork precision, Sophie's attendant Maria started pushing open the heavy wooden door to Sophie's room. The elderly Maria moved slowly but with a preserved poise of grace. "Good morning, archduchess," she greeted Sophie. Sophie blinked in response. Sophie stood limp and motionless while Maria undid the ties on her nightgown. Dressing

It had been three days since the nine-year-old James had fallen with fever. By the end of the first day, the boy's family was resigning themselves to the inevitable but oft-repeated tragedy of losing a child. The sick child was being tended to by his mother and two older sisters. His mother's care was comforting if detached. She soothed the boy's fever, baked flesh with cold water and the soothing touch of her hand, and did so without a word. Even when Jame's would call for her. His glazed-over eyes now too distant to see her there. She didn't answer. Her sole responsibility to James at this point was to try and mitigate the physical agony of death. James was too weak to stand, and he couldn't move much. Still, his burning body was frequently ravaged by tremors that resembled grand-mal seizures often accompanied by vague and mystifying rambles. For some of Jame's, more lived family members recognized the terrified disordered speech of the dying. It is pr