0 Comentários
0 Compartilhamentos
4 Visualizações
0 Anterior
Diretório
Discover new ideas, create new connections and make new friends
-
Faça o login para curtir, compartilhar e comentar!
-
The Pale CircusThe rain did not fall so much as it was forced against the stone, a grey, relentless mist that turned the castle courtyard into a slick, black mirror. "Do you hear it?" asked Elara, her voice thin and sharp against the damp air. She stood beneath the eaves of the keep, her hood pulled low, though the mud had long since soaked through her cloak. Her brother, Julian, stood a few paces away, his...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 5 Visualizações 0 Anterior
-
The Faded RiverThe smell of rot was the first thing. It clung to the wool of my coat, a damp, sweet stench that no amount of scrubbing could lift. I stood on the pier in Ashford, watching the train pull away. It was a small train. A black ribbon of smoke uncoiling into the gray morning. I watched until it was gone. Until the tracks were just iron lines in the mud. Then I turned back to the shop. My name is...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 6 Visualizações 0 Anterior
-
The Wistful AtlasThe rain on the ramparts was cold. It bit through the wool of Alderman’s tunic. He stood alone on the edge of the high wall, looking down into the mist that swallowed the valley. Below, the city of Oakhaven slept under a blanket of grey fog. Above, the sky was a bruised purple, heavy with the promise of storms that would not break. Alderman was not a man of words. He was a man of stone and...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 8 Visualizações 0 Anterior
-
The Distant ClueThe hall smelled of roasted meat and old dust. It was a smell that stuck to the inside of the nose. The air was thick. It hung low. The lights were gas. They hissed. They flickered. They cast long, wavering shadows on the paneled walls. The room was full. Men and women filled every chair. They stood in clusters. They drank. They talked. They laughed. The sound was a roar. It was a mechanical...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 8 Visualizações 0 Anterior
-
The Pale CircusThe iron gate of the Blackwood Asylum for the Insane did not creak so much as it groaned, a low, tectonic shudder that seemed to rise from the very bedrock of the earth, a sound that had been worn smooth by decades of rust and the ceaseless, indifferent passage of time, and as I stood there in the sleet, my uniform soaked through to the skin and the cold biting into the marrow of my bones, I...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 3 Visualizações 0 Anterior
-
The Golden VisitThe banquet hall of the precinct headquarters smelled of stale coffee and expensive wool, a thick, suffocating mixture that seemed to cling to the skin of every attendee. You stood at the edge of the mahogany table, your hand resting lightly on the back of a chair, your eyes fixed on the gold brooch pinned to the lapel of Captain Arthur Thorne. It was a small thing, a circle of solid gold with...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 7 Visualizações 0 Anterior
-
The Wistful ThroneThe mud sucked at their boots. It was a cold, grey morning. The sky hung low, heavy with the promise of rain that never quite broke. Elias knelt in the mire. His hands were black to the wrist. He dug. "Stop," said Sarah. Her voice was thin. It cut through the silence like a blade. Elias did not stop. He pulled at the roots. They were thick. They bled sap. "I said stop," Sarah repeated. She...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 9 Visualizações 0 Anterior
-
The Distant NightmareThe cold was a physical thing. It pressed against my ribs, a weight of ice and old stone. I held the mirror in my left hand. It was cracked. The fracture ran from the top corner to the center, a jagged scar of silver light. I was the Inquisitor of the Deep Ward. My job was simple. To find the rot. To cut it out. The air smelled of lavender and decay. A sickly, sweet perfume. It masked the...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 9 Visualizações 0 Anterior
-
The Wistful GridThe rain had not stopped for forty-eight hours, a persistent, gray curtain that turned the streets of Harrowgate into slick, black mirrors reflecting the broken neon of the shuttered diner where I sat, my coat damp and heavy, the taste of cold coffee and stale regret coating my tongue. I was a man who had spent twenty years learning the geometry of order, the precise angles of a badge, the...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 8 Visualizações 0 Anterior