0 Comments
0 Shares
0 Views
0 Reviews
Directory
Discover new ideas, create new connections and make new friends
-
Please log in to like, share and comment!
-
The Faded RiverThe ink bled into the grain of the mahogany, a dark vein spreading across the surface like a bruise that refused to heal. I wiped my thumb against the blotter, but the stain remained, a testament to the pressure I had applied, or perhaps the pressure that had been applied to me. The shop was silent, save for the rhythmic ticking of the wall clock and the low, ceaseless hum of the electric fan...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded PhotographThe rain had been falling for three days, a relentless, grey curtain that blurred the boundaries between the cobblestones of the old quarter and the mud that swallowed the shoes of the desperate poor, and it was in this deluge, with my boots soaking through and my coat heavy with the scent of wet dog and decay, that I found the ledger, a book of leather so old it felt like holding a dried...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden OathThe dream began with the sound of breaking glass. It was not the sharp, sudden crash of a window pane, but a low, grinding shatter, like ice cracking on a winter lake. Aldous woke in the dark, his heart hammering against his ribs. He lay still for a long moment, listening to the silence of the stone walls. The air was cold and smelled of damp earth and old paper. He was the Keeper of the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant Temple"Look at them," Mara said, her voice tight. She pointed a shaking finger at the row of white tulips lining the gravel path. "They are breaking." Old Mrs. Gable did not look up. She was kneeling in the dirt, her back to the house, her movements precise and mechanical. She was planting. Not flowers. Wire. Thin, copper wire, twisted into tight knots, buried deep in the soil where the bulbs lay....0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded GuestThe dream began with the smell of wet stone and old ink. Elias stood in the center of the hall. It was a library, but not of this world. The shelves rose like cliffs, disappearing into a mist that hung low to the floor. The books were bound in leather that looked like skin, or perhaps dried leaves. They did not have titles. They had no words on the spines. Elias knew this was wrong. He knew he...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden HarborThe train slowed, a groaning of metal on rusted tracks, before it shuddered to a halt in the grey mist of Harrowgate. Elias Thorne stepped onto the platform, his leather case heavy against his hip. It contained three years of spectral analysis, two hundred hours of recording, and the quiet, brittle hope that he could finally explain the sound. He was not alone. A figure stood by the departure...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful PetalThe dream began with the smell of ozone and wet wool. Sergeant Elias Thorne stood in a field that was not a field, but a vast, grey expanse of static, where the grass grew in vertical lines like the bars of a cell. In his left hand, he held a silver pectoral cross, heavy with the weight of centuries. The metal was warm, pulsating with a rhythm that did not match his own heartbeat. He was...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale PathThe iron gate groaned, a sound like a dying breath, as Silas pushed through the rusted bars. He was not supposed to be here. The clock in the tower had struck six, and the shift change was in minutes. His hands trembled, not from cold, though the November air bit at his cheeks, but from the weight of the ledger in his pocket. It was a thin book, bound in leather that had once been black but was...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant AffairThe banquet hall of the Ashworth estate was a cavern of suffocating heat, where the air hung thick and still, heavy with the cloying scent of roasted pheasant, stale wine, and the damp, mossy breath of the ancient stone walls that enclosed them like the ribs of a dying beast. In the center of this chaotic, gilded cage, Julian Thorne sat with his hands folded neatly on the table, his fingers...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek