The Avelrow shelf
These books match the feeling and story ingredients you chose. Adjust the mix whenever you like.
Science Fiction
Cian Rutherford
The rain started before the ferry lights came on. By half six the windows of Doyle’s Spar were silvered with Atlantic mist, the whole street outside blurred into wet halos and brake lights and people running with hoods over their heads like the weather had personally offended them. Clonmara always looked half haunted in weather like this. Not dangerous. Just old.
Gothic Fantasy
Maeve D. Gealach
The bell in the crypt rang once, though no living hand had touched it in seventeen winters. Brother Malachy heard it through the kitchen floor while he was cutting black bread for the poor boxes, the knife paused halfway through the heel, crumbs clinging to the edge like little flakes of burnt peat. Above him, the monastery slept in its old arrangement: dormitory shutters breathing in the gale, chapel candles guttering in their red glasses, rain running in cold lines down the saints.