by
In Dickensian Britain, a popular parlour game demanded that players sacrifice something of value each time they erred — no matter how small the mistake.
September, 1843. Teenagers Ben and Jem, bound by desperation and circumstance, flee the oppressive confines of a London school for wayward boys. As they journey across the countryside, their bond deepens, each finding solace in the other while carefully guarding the secrets that haunt them.
Seeking shelter from violent storms, they take refuge in an abandoned farmstead. There, at last, Ben and Jem allow themselves to acknowledge their true feelings — but the farmstead is no sanctuary. It is shrouded in darkness, and something within that darkness has taken notice of them… and recognizes one of its own.
Equal parts Dickensian drama, queer coming of age tale, and Gothic horror, it is a haunting story of discovery, love, and the price exacted when past mistakes — and the darkness between worlds — demand their rightful sacrifice.
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Publisher: Independently Published
Narrators:
Genres:
Pairings: M-M
Heat Level: 3
Romantic Content: 3
Ending: Click here to reveal
Character Identities: Gay
Protagonist 1 Age: Under 18
Protagonist 2 Age: Under 18
Tropes: Coming of Age, First Time, Found Family, Friends to Lovers, Trapped Together
Word Count: 40,000
Setting: Dickensian Britain
Languages Available: English
“Oi, Jem, get your backside over here!”
I look up, immediately trying not to smile. You show emotion here, any hint of happiness, and they pounce on it. It’s difficult to not smile when Ben speaks to me, though. So, I let myself go and smile back at him, uncaring if anyone sees.
“Hey, Ben.” I do as I’m told and amble over to him. He’s leaning against the rough stone wall on the north side of the courtyard, looking for all the world as if he’s happy to be doing it.
Looking happy seems to be Ben’s gift. He grins at me, and I pretend that it’s an expression that he reserves solely for me.
“Nice day for it,” Ben says, reaching out a long arm and offering his hand. I allow his hand to touch my shoulder, and I sort of slide up and under his arm, pressing against the damp stones.
READ MOREBen must be at least sixteen, but I’m sure he’s older. Most certainly a couple of years older than I am, partly because he looks it, but mostly because he’s so obviously wiser than I. He says he isn’t sure how old he really is, and I suppose that I believe him.
COLLAPSE
