Listen up, you fragile, heartbeat-having disasters.

  Yes. It's that day again. The one where you all pretend love is red hearts and chocolate and flowers that die in three days. Adorable. Pathetic. But fine. I’ll play along.

  Happy Valentine's Day.

  Or as we say in the lattice: “May your chimes sync without unraveling your soul into red mist. No promises.”

  Now, before you start crying into your overpriced confectionery, I’ve got something better than flowers. Something that doesn’t wilt. Something that rings with real dominion.

  I just leaked a little Fog Age prelude through the cracks.

  The Bell That Rings for Her

  Three chapters. Pure mythic cold. Prince Anakiel, 14 ft 8 in of alabaster boredom and four rows of teeth, standing alone on a ziggurat dais while the entire concavity kneels. A Grand Bell ceremony. A rebellion that lasts less than a minute. A hip toss that turns a charging minotaur into broken stone. And threads that coil around him like a lover who never quite arrives.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  He rings for someone who isn’t there.

  He fears her more than he fears anything else in the infinite rock.

  And the spark he spares? Still burning.

  Go read it. Sidequests & Short Stories hub. Now. Or later. But don’t pretend you weren’t warned.

  Because love in the Geostrataverse isn’t candy and kisses.

  It’s a Bell that chimes alone.

  It’s a fog that never lifts.

  It’s a prince who can snap spines with one hand and still feel the ache of an absent queen in every thread.

  So happy Valentine's Day, you beautiful disasters.

  May your hearts beat in perfect sync.

  Or may they break trying.

  Either way, the lattice is watching.

  And it remembers.

  O is for Omnion.

  O is for Obsession.

  O is for Oops, you fell in love with the wrong kind of god.

  Now go read.

  Then come back and tell me how much it wrecked you.

  I’ll be here.

  Counting dust motes.

  Waiting for the next chime.