NoGENver

The castle maintenance budget is a joke. Literally.

The barista’s thoughts are fuchsia today, all spiky and caffeinated. They stab into my temples like tiny disco lights.

“Jules! You need to see this!” Marcus’s voice echoes through the limestone passage, bouncing off walls that haven’t heard human sounds in… well, maybe ever.

The thing about being a guardian of imaginary friends is that you have to be very patient. And sturdy.

The ice cap calves another segment into the copper-colored sea, and I log it in my report.

“As you can see,” I say, sliding the photos across my desk, “it’s a lovely three-bedroom Colonial with original hardwood floors and a recently updated kitchen.”

The dust rises with each step, dancing in the weak sunlight that filters through broken windows.

The walkway stretches out before me like an endless diving board into the sunset.