0 Comments
0 Shares
2 Views
0 Reviews
Directory
Discover new ideas, create new connections and make new friends
-
Please log in to like, share and comment!
-
The Faded ChronicleYou walk. The road is long. The mud is deep. You are a soldier. You are also a ghost. The fog sits low on the valley floor. It tastes like iron. Your boots are heavy. Your heart is heavier. You carry a satchel. Inside is a book. It is old. The leather is cracked. The pages are yellow. It is the Chronicle of the Dead. You are its keeper. You are its prisoner. The village is ahead. Smoke rises...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant ThresholdYou wake up in the mud, the taste of iron and old rain thick on your tongue, and the first thing you see is the door. It is not a door you remember building, nor one you recall walking through, yet it stands there with a familiarity that feels like a bruise pressing against your ribs. It is a heavy oak slab, swollen with centuries of damp, its hinges rusted into a web of orange decay. The wood...0 Comments 0 Shares 5 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden VisitThe hall was full. The air tasted of beeswax and old sweat. Lanterns burned low. Shadows stretched long. The floorboards groaned under the weight of boots. Captain Elias Thorne stood apart. He held a glass of amber liquid. It trembled in his hand. A single drop fell. It hit the stone. It vanished. He watched the dancers. They moved like smoke. They moved like water. They did not see him. Or...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden DowntownThe explosion did not announce itself with a bang, but with a shattering, crystalline silence that sucked the air from the lungs of the city before the fire arrived to fill the void. Margaret Holloway stood in the center of the atrium of the Department of Municipal Records, a building that had stood as a granite sentinel over the district for over a century, and felt the floor beneath her...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale VerdictThe train shuddered to a halt in the valley, the iron groan settling into the mist. Elias Thorne stepped onto the platform, his leather suitcase heavy in his hand. The air tasted of coal dust and wet iron. He was a man of precision, a clockmaker by trade, a man who believed that if one could measure the tick of a second, one could measure a life. He had come to the town of Oakhaven to settle...0 Comments 0 Shares 5 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant CrownThe glass shatters. Not the window. The mirror. You are running. Your lungs burn. The air tastes of coal dust and wet wool. You hold the frame in your hands. It is heavy. It is cold. It is the only thing you own that matters. Behind you, the doors bang shut. They are coming. You know the rhythm of their boots on the stone floor. *Thud. Thud. Thud.* It is the heartbeat of the factory. It is the...0 Comments 0 Shares 3 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful LetterThe iron gate groaned, a low, mournful sound that seemed to vibrate through the soles of Elias’s boots as he stood before the high, ivy-choked walls of Blackwood Manor. He adjusted the strap of his bag, feeling the familiar, reassuring weight of the sword hilt hidden within the canvas. It was a relic of a different life, a time when the world was smaller and the rules of engagement were written...0 Comments 0 Shares 5 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden MasterThe rain did not fall so much as it hung in the air, a fine, gray mist that turned the brick facades of the university into soft, bleeding watercolors. Arthur sat in his office, the windows locked against the chill, and listened to the silence that had replaced the clatter of the printing press. For forty years, he had lived inside the margins, in the white space between the words, where the...0 Comments 0 Shares 5 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant CrownThe seal was cold. It pressed into the wet clay of the wall, a perfect circle of iron and wax, waiting to be broken. Thomas stood before it, his hand hovering in the air. He was an old man. His joints ached with the dampness of the keep. The stone walls wept. Water dripped from the ceiling, a steady, rhythmic tap that sounded like a countdown. Thomas was the last of the Wardens. For three...0 Comments 0 Shares 6 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek