Anka Troitsky

Do you hear that sound? Do you smell it – the heady fragrance of sour ale, rabbit pies fresh from the oven, and confidence rising with every drink? Ah, the western taverns of the Zemelands! This one is called the Four Moons, for reasons I suspect are mainly decorative. Unless someone had one tankard too many when naming it. I don’t know about you, dear reader, but I’m getting dizzy with glee just listening. Half from the flutes and tambourines, half from the reckless enthusiasm of a crowd...

Are you afraid of the dark? Perfect. Now follow me into this oversized rabbit hole, though if you’re expecting anything as innocent as a tea party at the end of it, temper those expectations. You first notice the peculiar glow: four light spots floating like will-o’-the-wisps in a low, earthy tunnel. The walls and ceiling drip with the memories of countless rainy seasons. Roots dangle, resembling the skeletal fingers of some long-forgotten giant, swaying ever so slightly as if alive....

“I believe in aliens. I don’t believe they want to be friends if they know us.” — A personal diary of a nine-year-old. “There are no...