Comics | Dreamtales

Leo’s hand was empty. But his mind wasn’t. He could still feel the grey drizzle. He could still hear the single, warped note. And in the corner of his vision, just for a second, he saw a porcelain mask smiling from the reflection in a dusty mirror.

“This one is ‘The Labyrinth of Regret’,” Elara whispered. “A merchant prince wears it. He dreams of the deal he didn’t make, the fork in the road he didn’t take, and walks its endless, sorrowful corridors until dawn. He wakes wiser, but hollow.” dreamtales comics

He had to write a new story. Fast.

In the distance, a carnival waited. But it was a carnival of bones. The Ferris wheel was made of rib cages. The calliope played a single, warped note over and over. The ticket booth was a grinning skull. Leo’s hand was empty

The air in Professor Eldridge’s antique shop smelled of old paper, beeswax, and secrets. Dust motes danced in the single beam of afternoon light slicing through the grimy window. For Leo, it was the best-smelling place on Earth. He could still hear the single, warped note