Dark Threads tells three haunting dark-fantasy stories where desperate survivors endure brutal magic and impossible choices in worlds crumbling under their own shadows. What sparked the initial idea for Dark Threads, and did one story come first?

The Breath Borrower was the first dark-fantasy story I’d ever written. I wrote it specifically for the Writers of the Future contest about five years ago. When I first had the idea, I don’t think it was dark, per se, but as the story developed, the weight of it grew, and it became much darker.

It received a Silver Honorable Mention in the contest, and I really loved the story, but after trying for a few years to get it published—and receiving a few quite nice rejection letters—I decided to share it with readers on my own. The other two stories in this volume had also received HM’s in the contest, and since they were also rather grim and dark, I thought they’d work well together.


I plan to continue the series, since I enjoy dwelling dark occasionally, but their release may be erratic since I write across multiple genres, and these types of stories can be emotionally intense to create.

The magic systems are uniquely brutal. How did you approach designing magic that feels both inventive and emotionally costly?

I think because of the depth of magic involved in these stories, the giving or receiving of something from inside the characters themselves, it made the cost automatically become greater and more intimate. Very personal. And because of that, it became a choice for each character. Risking their own life for others. Even in the case of Vapors of Misuse, the twins are seeking revenge, but also an end to the misery their lives are a part of, either for each other, or for the community after they’re gone.

Your characters often operate in moral gray zones. How do you balance empathy with their harsher decisions?

Once I started coming up with the ideas, the characters themselves took over. That often happens in my writing. They flesh themselves out. They become very real, and real people often have far more gray in them than edging toward black or white. And the gray is interesting to explore.

It goes back to the choice thing. Under “normal” circumstances, the main characters would be ordinary people, but I’ve thrown them into some type of chaos, and they have to react while trying to still keep part of themselves…well, themselves.

The endings are powerful but intentionally not tidy. How do you know when a story with this much darkness has reached its conclusion?

Life isn’t very tidy. A lot of my short stories feel like vignettes of the character’s life to me. You know things were happening before this moment, which are sometimes alluded to, giving the reader more background, but you also get the feeling something else will probably come after the story, though perhaps not with the central character.

The vignette ends at a pause, like the end of an exhale. The flow of that particular moment narrows until you break away. It’s not always a clean break. Something might not be fully resolved. It’s a bit like ending on a discordant note in music. It might leave you feeling a little disturbed, but glad it’s fading away at the same time.

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