Articles

Spotlight on Faberge Nostromo

And the second of today’s Breathless Press spotlights is on Faberge Nostromo’s new book The Song in the Silver, available on the Breathless Press website. Welcome!

A vampire’s bite.

A werewolf’s love.

Burned by silver and called by its song, he walks the night forever, protecting those he loves.

His mortal life stolen by a vampire, his undead life saved by a werewolf, William walks now in darkness. Scarred by her silver on the night he was turned, he secretly protected Mary until the day she died.

And now the fading song of their daughter’s life has called him back to the glen.

Will tonight be the night he can reveal to her the eternal love that has kept her safe, and that will now protect her son?

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He sat on the side of the hill, beneath the wind-stunted oak, and looked down on the thin stream of smoke drifting from the croft into the star-littered sky. A faint wisp of the Northern Lights swept like a wraith across the inky black. The wind flicked his raven-black hair from his face and stung his eyes.

She was in there. The time was coming. The conflict in his heart hoped that it might not be tonight, but that if it was, it would be before the dawn broke over the hills opposite.

The howl of a wolf echoed across the valley. He recognized Aatu’s cry. She had been here always, before him. She’d been here all the time he’d been far away, far from the pain. She would still be here after he left.

A bird splashed in the dark reeds along the side of the beck at the cry, protecting her young from the night, just as he’d protected the woman in the croft when he could. And when his presence had threatened her, he’d left to take the threat far away.

He wrapped his cloak tight around him, though he didn’t need it against the cold. He felt neither cold nor warmth—only loss.

He touched the deerskin pouch that hung from the leather thong around his neck. The soft vibrations of the uisge, the life force, from the silver cross inside were fainter now. One pattern of vibrations, one of the harmonies within the song, was fading. The pattern had lived with him for nearly a century. It was what had brought him back, the realization that one part of the song was coming to an end.

The journey had been long and hard. The dark highways of his existence had made it so, but he had come. And he would leave again. After he had had one last moment with her, to tell her. So that she would, at the end, know. Just as he had with her mother.

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Faberge Nostromo’s career has been one in the true sense of the phrase “move swiftly and in an uncontrolled way.” After being expelled from school, he finally arrived, through blind luck and belligerence, at a stage in life where he can genuinely claim to be a writer and musician. Whatever you do, do not encourage him.