Gregor

Gregor spent eight hundred years wishing he had truly died. Eight hundred years. No voice, no body, no way back. The face of his wife — gone. His daughter's name — gone. The language he spoke to them — gone. By the end, Gregor barely remembered he had been a man.

Then he was offered another life. He took it. He died. He was offered another. He took that too. Each time, a little more of the old life bled through — a word, a grief, a town that felt like home.

Something is behind this — patient, deliberate, older than he can guess. Gregor does not understand it. He only knows the dead do not come back for free, and that some of the people he meets along the way are not people at all.

Across a Europe scarred by two world wars, Gregor encounters things wearing human faces  and doors that open where no doors should be. Each life pulls back another layer. Underneath, something vast is watching — and it has been waiting for him much longer than eight hundred years.

Complete.

What to expect:

The whole novel is written. No hiatus, no indefinite wait. No rewrite. Done is done, it won't change. But I will add more stories to the world. And more, and more. 

Prose that flows like good wine and butter soft enough to spread on bread. Salted, to be added liberally.

A cosmology that reveals itself slowly: dead places, old beings, and rules Gregor does not yet understand. Spoiler: nah, just kidding.

Death, grief, and war on the page. Not gratuitous, but not softened. Life can be shit and you know it.

New chapter every Saturday. The Companion Stories volume collects shadow histories from the same world — the lives Gregor never sees, told alongside his. Read them or skip them; the main narrative stands alone, but the heart of the world is inside these stories. And the salt, the wine, and a lot of butter again. I like butter.