Meet Abel Thorne. Twenty-six years old, impeccably dressed, devastatingly charming. The kind of man who walks into a 1920s speakeasy and every head turns.
In Art of Oblivion, Abel represents everything dangerous about charisma without substance. Bright blue eyes that shift from warmth to calculated coldness in a heartbeat. Always perfectly groomed, always saying exactly what people want to hear.
He’s a scientist at the prestigious Sunset Centre, working alongside his twin brother on revolutionary memory technology. Or rather, he’s working alongside his brother’s revolutionary memory technology.
He’s learned that people will forgive almost anything if you package it in the right smile, the right words, the right image. There’s something unsettling about someone who always knows exactly what to say.
His surname Thorne is no accident – he’s the thorn that draws blood whilst appearing beautiful. The pain he causes feels almost accidental, which makes it more devastating.
In alternative 1925, where memory can be edited like film reels, Abel has discovered the ultimate manipulation tool. Why steal someone’s work when you can make them forget they ever created it?
But here’s the thing about living as a beautiful lie – eventually, the mirror shows you the truth.
Coming February. Some thorns cut deepest when they’re golden.
Daria Ryzhikova Writer