0 Commentaires
0 Parts
3 Vue
0 Aperçu
Annuaire
Discover new ideas, create new connections and make new friends
-
Connectez-vous pour aimer, partager et commenter!
-
The Pale BonsaiThe door behind you does not close. It dissolves into mist, leaving only the cold air of the corridor where you stand. You are alone. The floor is made of white marble, polished to a mirror shine. It reflects your face, but the face is wrong. It is too thin. The eyes are too wide. You look like a ghost that has forgotten how to haunt. You hold a small pot in your hands. It is clay, unglazed,...0 Commentaires 0 Parts 3 Vue 0 Aperçu
-
The Faded MasqueradeI woke in a hallway that smelled of wet wool and ozone. The floor was black marble, polished to a mirror sheen. It reflected my face, but the face was wrong. It was older. It was wearing a mask. Not a paper mask. A skin mask. Tight and pale. I looked down. I was wearing a coat. It was long. It was dark. It had no buttons. It was open. "Did you sleep well, Thomas?" The voice came from the end of...0 Commentaires 0 Parts 2 Vue 0 Aperçu
-
The Wistful AtlasThe wine was red. Thick. Like blood. You held the glass. You watched the light. It caught the rim. It shimmered. You were here. You were one of them. The music played. It was old. It was nice. You smiled. It was a small smile. It was a safe smile. Margaret stood by the door. She looked at you. She did not look at you. She looked through you. She was watching the room. She was counting. She was...0 Commentaires 0 Parts 3 Vue 0 Aperçu
-
The Distant ThresholdThe train left at dawn, a black sliver against the grey sky. I watched it go from the platform. The air was cold. It bit at my nose. It settled in my lungs. I felt the chill there. It was a physical thing. A weight. I stood still. My hands were in my pockets. They were empty. They had always been empty. The town is called Oakhaven. It is not on many maps. It is a place of stone and silence. The...0 Commentaires 0 Parts 2 Vue 0 Aperçu
-
The Faded GuestThe rain had not stopped for three days, turning the clay path leading to the estate of Thomas Bradshaw into a viscous, sucking mire that threatened to swallow the boots of anyone who dared traverse it. Bradshaw stood at the window of his study, a room that smelled of damp wool and old paper, watching the water streak down the glass in jagged, frantic lines. He was a man built for command, his...0 Commentaires 0 Parts 3 Vue 0 Aperçu
-
The Faded AlibiThe bell tower did not ring. It hung there, silent as a held breath, against the grey morning. I stood below it, my hands trembling not from cold, but from the weight of what I knew. The stone walls of the chapel swallowed sound. They were old, older than the kingdom, older than the laws that bound us. The air tasted of damp moss and iron. I looked up. The clock face was blank. No hands. No...0 Commentaires 0 Parts 4 Vue 0 Aperçu
-
The Wistful SagaThe rain hit the tin roof like gravel. It was a Tuesday. I remember because we were supposed to go to church. We didn't. The house was full. Not with people. With noise. The static of the radio. The hiss of the kettle. The heavy, wet breathing of the trees outside. My husband, Thomas, stood by the window. He didn't look at me. He looked at the mud. "Go," he said. "I can't." "You must." I looked...0 Commentaires 0 Parts 2 Vue 0 Aperçu
-
The Golden MasterThe ink is black. It is wet. It dries. You hold the quill. Your hand shakes. The room smells of dust and old parchment. This is the archive. This is the house of the dead. You are here to sign the ledger. You are here to be gone by nightfall. Outside, the rain hammers the stone. Inside, the silence is heavy. It presses against your eardrums. It presses against your chest. You look at the seal....0 Commentaires 0 Parts 3 Vue 0 Aperçu
-
The Golden MasterYou stand at the threshold of the great hall, the air thick with the scent of beeswax and old blood, and you feel the weight of the silence pressing against your eardrums like the deep ocean, a silence that is not empty but full of a terrible, waiting expectation that makes the hair on your arms stand up and your breath catch in your throat as you look upon the figure seated upon the throne of...0 Commentaires 0 Parts 3 Vue 0 Aperçu
English
Arabic
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek