0 Comments
0 Shares
1 Views
0 Reviews
Directory
Discover new ideas, create new connections and make new friends
-
Please log in to like, share and comment!
-
The Pale DoorThe coat hung on the back of the chair. It was a heavy thing, wool and felt, dyed a deep, bruised purple that had faded to the color of dried blood. Elias noticed it first. He was not supposed to be there. The room was a place of quiet, of dust motes dancing in shafts of pale light, a space that existed just off the edge of the waking world. Yet Elias was there, standing in the corner, his...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded RoadThe banquet hall smelled of roasted goose and old dust, a thick, cloying perfume that seemed to hang in the air like a heavy, unbroken sentence, and I sat at the far end of the long oak table, my fingers tracing the intricate, worn grooves of the silverware that had been passed down through generations of men who believed that order was a physical substance you could hold in your hands. There...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded ChronicleThe fog rolled in from the harbor, thick and gray as wet wool. It swallowed the pier, the cranes, and the distant lights of the city. Elias stood on the deck of the trawler, his hands resting on the cold iron railing. The metal bit into his palms. He watched the mist swirl. It looked like breath. Like the exhalation of something old and tired. He was a man of the coast, though he had spent...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded ApartmentThe wool coat had been with me since the day I left the barracks in ’14, a heavy charcoal thing that had once smelled of pipe tobacco and damp earth but now carried only the faint, metallic tang of old sweat and the dusty, sterile air of the holding cell where I had spent the last three years, a garment that had absorbed so much of my silence that it felt less like clothing and more like a...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant GhostThe feast was a blur of clinking crystal and the heavy, suffocating scent of roasted game, a tableau of opulence that you watched from the periphery, your eyes fixed not on the dancing couples but on the ancient, gnarled oak tree that stood sentinel outside the floor-to-ceiling glass doors. It was a monstrosity of biology, a twisted spiral of bark and leaf that had witnessed centuries of human...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden GreenhouseThe bus shuddered, a great mechanical beast exhaling steam into the cold gray air of the capital. You pressed your forehead against the vibrating glass, watching the city scroll by in a blur of wet cobblestones and darkened windows. In your lap, tucked under your coat, was the bundle. It was heavy. It had always been heavy. You shifted your weight, feeling the coarse wool of the sweater bite...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful SilenceThe banquet hall of the Ashworth estate did not smell of food, but of ozone and stale varnish, a heavy, industrial scent that clung to the velvet drapes like a second skin. It was the winter of 1914, and the air outside the tall, leaded windows was sharp with the promise of a new world, a world that would be carved out of steel and smoke, yet inside, we sat in the comfortable, suffocating...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant CartographThe feast was a wound in the dark. Candles guttered. The air smelled of roasting goose, damp wool, and the metallic tang of old blood. Elias sat at the head of the table. He was a man made of sharp angles and hollows. His eyes, pale and watery, scanned the room with the hunger of a starving dog. Across from him sat his father, Julian. Julian was a giant of a man. His hands, thick and calloused,...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful CrossroadsThe frost did not merely settle upon the windowpanes of the moving van; it seemed to breathe, a slow, crystalline exhalation that turned the glass into a fractured mosaic of white and grey, obscuring the road ahead and the world behind in equal measure, as if the act of leaving were a violent severing of the membrane between what was and what would be, and Elias Thorne sat in the driver’s seat...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek