0 Commentarios
0 Acciones
0 Views
0 Vista previa
Directorio
Discover new ideas, create new connections and make new friends
-
Please log in to like, share and comment!
-
The Wistful MountainThe fire did not begin with a spark, nor with a match, nor with the careless drop of a lantern, but with a sudden, violent inhalation from the walls themselves, a gasping that pulled the air from the lungs of every soul in the house and replaced it with a scent so thick and cloying that it tasted of copper and rotting lilies. Colonel Elias Thorne stood in the center of the drawing room, his...0 Commentarios 0 Acciones 0 Views 0 Vista previa
-
The Pale MeridianThe iron gate was locked, it was locked, and the key was in my father’s pocket, and his pocket was stitched shut, and I was standing in the mud of the alleyway while the rain fell in sheets that turned the cobblestones into a slick, black mirror, and I said to the man in the grey coat, Please, sir, the seal is broken, the wax is cracked, and he looked down at me with eyes that were not quite...0 Commentarios 0 Acciones 0 Views 0 Vista previa
-
The Golden Oath"I have it," I said. My voice was thin. It scraped against the silence of the hall. The Abbot looked down at me. His eyes were deep pits. They held no light. Only cold. "Show me," he commanded. I reached into my robe. My fingers trembled. They were stiff. The air in the chapel was thick. It tasted of dust and old blood. I pulled out the cloak. It was not golden. It was grey. It was worn. The...0 Commentarios 0 Acciones 0 Views 0 Vista previa
-
The Faded RoadThe dream begins with the smell of ozone and wet slate, a sharp, metallic tang that clings to the back of your throat like a bad aftertaste. You are standing at the edge of a precipice, but there is no wind, no drop, only a flat, grey expanse of stone that stretches into a fog so thick it feels solid, a wall of white noise that erodes the edges of your memory. You do not know where you are, but...0 Commentarios 0 Acciones 0 Views 0 Vista previa
-
The Pale PathThe axe bit deep into the oak. The wood splintered with a sound like a breaking bone. My hands shook. Not from cold. The air was still. The air was warm. It shook from the effort. From the repetition. Strike. Hold. Strike. I am Thomas. I am the scholar of the house. I am the keeper of the books. But today I am a woodcutter. Today the books are dust. Today the ink is dried. My father stood by...0 Commentarios 0 Acciones 0 Views 0 Vista previa
-
The Wistful CipherYou leave without saying goodbye. The gate closes behind you, and the sound is a slap of iron licked clean by rain. Your hands are empty. Your pockets are empty. Your name is carved in a ledger somewhere beneath the tower, beside the count of your days. You have one letter. You have three coins. You have the ache, deep and familiar as a worn tooth. That is all. It is the same, as before,...0 Commentarios 0 Acciones 0 Views 0 Vista previa
-
The Distant PromiseThe iron blade bit into the wet stone of the rampart, not with the clean, decisive *shink* of a sword, but with the dull, grinding complaint of rusted metal forcing its way into a seam that had long since calcified, and it was here, in this narrow, airless corridor that smelled of damp wool and old blood, that Sir Alistair Thorne felt the first true tremor of his ending. The torchlight,...0 Commentarios 0 Acciones 0 Views 0 Vista previa
-
The Faded BouquetThe rain in Chicago did not fall so much as it was pressed against the glass of the forty-second floor, a gray, relentless membrane that sealed the room in a silence so heavy it had weight, a tactile density that Marcus Thorne felt settling in his marrow. He sat in the high-backed leather chair, the material cool and damp against his back, his hands resting on his knees, fingers interlaced in a...0 Commentarios 0 Acciones 0 Views 0 Vista previa
-
The Faded QuadrantThe road to the Ashen Vale was not a road at all. It was a scar in the earth, a vein of grey stone that pulsed with a low, tectonic hum. Elias walked it with the heavy, rhythmic cadence of a man who had long since stopped listening to the wind. He wore the coat of his brother, Julian. It was too large for him now, the sleeves rolled twice, the wool frayed at the cuffs. The fabric smelled of...0 Commentarios 0 Acciones 0 Views 0 Vista previa
English
Arabic
French
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek