Tears for Europa – DP Watt (Mount Abraxas)


Some wear and marking to the slipcase. Some wear to the upper edge of the text block

1 in stock


The flames of burning maps are fed by the whispers of a thousand lies.

The arrival of the new rulers—long prophesied—is heralded by the fall of spring leaves and the shuddering of mountains.

Hearts smoulder with ancient hatreds that centuries of silence could not extinguish.

The snows do not penetrate the canopy of an ancient forest, forgotten now in a deep wilderness that existed merely in the minds of a people who dreamt themselves into the glory of the future—they too were snow, and wind, and rain, and blood, and soil.

They were prouder than their destiny could ever allow—they were chosen to perish and to come again; they are no different to us.

A beggar’s filthy rags conceal the soft skin of a great Countess; her filthy hands—once familiar only with the sheen of silk and the fragility of petals—have grown accustomed to the hard necessity of coin. Behind the crumbling render of a tenement block cramped flats overflow with lost treasures of an imaginary civilisation, the memory of their previous owners fading with each illicit transaction.

In a busy morgue, beneath a blue shroud, a chest still heaves, slowly, painfully; a gaunt young hand shakes free the cloth and points…at you… mourn​!