The Militiverse

  Why the Gothic Still Matters Good evening, my dear Gothic dark academics, The weekend has passed but its perfume still lingers, doesn’t it? Pull up a chair, warm your toes by the fire. I’m sipping the green fairy tonight. What’s your poison? Let me tell you in on a little secret. Paris, the city of love, light, and lingering ghosts. Dripping with gothic architecture and literary sorcery. Beautiful to a fault, like a princess in a doomed fairy tale. But… I wasn’t always seduced by it. Oh no! Hard to believe, isn’t it? I never could quite grasp its allure, what its pull was. It shimmered at a distance, a city behind glass. But as with all great enchantments, Paris found a way to creep under my skin. Slowly, insidiously, tenderly. And when it did? The Gothic Heart Found Its Way Home Picture it here, cobbled streets glistening under a rainstorm, Paris breathing mist like a dragon half asleep. People move not like modern tourists but like dancers in an old waltz, una...

  Writing Timeless Monsters with Human Hearts Good evening my gothic friends, Please have a seat, help yourself to some wine or absinthe, if you feel a little decadent or maybe I can tempt you with a brooding cup of tea. Tonight I am reflecting on a question asked of me a few weeks ago. A question that really stood out. The question? ‘Living Memory’ . More specifically about immortals and how they would perceive memory, what it would mean to those who don’t die? The psychology of immortality I remember asking my grandad, many years ago, what it was like in to live for hundreds of years. He was only in his seventies at that time, but as a child I believed he was much older than Methuselah. He spun wild, fantastic stories a little like Cervantes’ windmill chasing Don Quixote. He was a scallywag at heart really, a complete rascal with a great memory.  In a lot of gothic and fantasy stories, vampires seem to float through time with  with no memory of their human lives. But my...

  Good evening, my dark academic friends. Let’s pour a glass of wine, Pinot Grigio, perhaps? What a week we have ahead, the Buck Moon on Thursday, and I have a little surprise brewing for you, my darlings. But more on that later. Tonight, I’m treating you to a glimpse into some of the characters of the Tempus Militibus series but not the main guys, though heaven help my haunted heart, how could I not talk about them! No, tonight, I want to introduce those who give our vampire warriors a hard time, provoke deep and meaningful conversations, and have almost destroyed a Militibus officer. Picture this, you’re sitting at home, enjoying a rare moment to read, when there’s a knock on the door. In walk two very handsome, very imposing undead vampires. What do you do? That, my friends, is how our first character met the Tempus Militibus . The Priest: Father Tom O’Hara is a kindly old soul working among the forgotten residents of LA’s Skid Row. Raised on a dairy farm in the Midland...

Did Peo Receive the letter?   Deep in the annals of his 'forgotten', relics, a parchment was found. Though he swears he never received it. Perhaps he lied but the lie was for the protection of someone else and not for his own. But was he really that considerate? Was the Empire? In the Militiverse nothing is face value. Enemies walk the corridors of power, politics and ambition rub shoulders at the same party so, who can you trust? If you received this letter, would you go to Rome? Would you do as the writer begged? What if it is a trap? An elaborate ruse to get the strongest soldier away and then pave the way for the coup. The letter below didn't quite make it into Peo's book, Tempus Mori, he refuses to speak about it, claiming that he never received it, his orders were simple and direct.  Read it closely and decide what it means, decode it if you wish, but read between the lines… An empire in ruin….or is it? The cloak and dagger of the ascension to the throne...

The Making of Peo Satimus   As a writer, you create characters…some linger like ghosts, others drift into the background, thin and necessary, like scaffolding. Then there are the ones who knock you clean off your seat. They never ask permission. They just arrive fully formed, eyes gleaming, daring you, if you will, to look away. Peo Satimus was one of those. He didn’t knock. He broke the damn door down. Decades ago, yes, decades …I was in Ariminum, walking a gravel path in a quiet park. I had music in my ears, though I couldn’t tell you now what it was. A breeze, barely more than a whisper, lifted the hair on the back of my neck. And then I saw him. Just a flicker. A dark coat, darker hair. A glance, questionable and quick. I sat down on a wooden bench and scribbled a character sketch: manner, mood, looks. I even drew him…me, someone who can’t draw to save her life. And yet there he was. Bloodstained. Silent. He stepped out from the deepest, dustiest corner of my imagination....

  The shadows are shifting. Something is coming. ✦  The next book in the Tempus Militibus series  is coming June 2025 it's darker, deeper, and drenched in betrayal. A familiar face , but not as you knew him.   ✦  A special edition is stirring .....Parisian nights, blood-stained secrets, and the first glimpse of  some characters that’s been clawing at the edges of the story.   Keep an eye on this space..... or better still sign up for the newsletter. The darkness does love company. https://substack.com/@admccabe

  Some write in the light. Anna writes in twilight. A lover of Gothic literature, history, eerie tales, and forgotten cities, Anna’s pen dances between fantasy and dark academia, drawing inspiration from classical music, European ruins, and dreams that don't fade with daylight. When not writing about tortured vampires and haunted empires, Anna can be found sipping Pinot Grigio with a notebook in hand, roaming the wilds of forgotten towns, or reading Herodotus for fun (yes, really). I firmly believe the dead have better stories. Welcome to my world.