BrettMichaelOrr

“You can bring back everyone you’ve lost. It will only cost your sanity.”

The king is dead, murdered by an interloper from the future—a manic copy of his own son, hellbent on forcibly reversing a disastrous timeline. The true Damian Roswald—a hedonistic crown prince bereft of magical talent—finds his comfortable life upended by his father’s murder and assassins from his own future.

“There are none left who can judge us, so we must be our own executioner. That is the cursed fate of those few named Damian Roswald.” 

With politicians plotting his demise, his royal cousins scheming for the empty throne, and warring churches tearing the grieving city apart, Damian must accept the tragedy of his countless futures—or else, find himself doomed to repeat them. But can a mere mortal decide their own fate in a world governed by almighty angels? 

“Find me, Damian Roswald. And I’ll tell you why the stars fell.”

For three centuries, even the wisest men have accepted that the night sky was once populated by ‘stars’—until a terrible calamity plunged mankind into a Dark Age. From the darkness, the Roswalds rose to power, but few know that the first crown was forged with the blood of a slaughtered god…

Damian must endure countless tragedies and the consequences of his own future actions to reach the peace he desires—but could the true threat be hiding not in his future, but in his own distant past?

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A Thread of Broken Fate

Lynn stood under the shower head, allowing the hot water to pour over her face.

She supposed that someone had sponge-bathed her while she was hospitalized, but in all other regards, this was her first proper shower since she'd fought with the other Damian Roswald. No matter how much she scrubbed, more grime still loosened from her skin and beneath her nails, trickling down the drain in a grayish stream.

Using the Aspect of Vigor had healed the worst of her injuries, but, as was usual for that particular Aspect, she'd been left with a litany of bruises that could only be healed with time.

Lynn sighed and pressed her forehead against the cold tiles.

I got my ass kicked by one old man.

The steaming-hot water trickled over the mottled burn of her Sacrifice, making her wince. Her naked body bore white scars from her clash with Damian, and purplish bruises from Gunther's thrashing; but it was her ego that stung most of all.

the burden of she who would be queen.