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 Golden MirrorThe rain fell in sheets. It was the kind of rain that does not wash clean. It only makes the mud deeper. I stood at the edge of the cliff. The wind tore at my coat. I held the box. It was heavy. Not with weight. But with silence. I was a clerk. I counted ledgers. I inked names. I was no one. My name was Thomas. I did not care for it. I cared for the work. I cared for the quiet. Then the war...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden CircuitThe ink bled into the parchment not with a splash, but with a slow, deliberate seep, much like the way the light had been dying in the high windows of the Inquisitor’s chamber, turning the gold leaf on the ceiling into a bruised, swollen yellow that seemed to pulse with a terrible, silent heartbeat. I am writing this from the cold stone floor, where the dampness has finally seeped through the...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant PromiseThe fog rolled in from the harbor like a living thing, swallowing the cobblestones whole. I stood on the dock, my boots sinking into the wet wood, watching the silhouette of the *Ironclad* dissolve into the grey mist. It was not a ship I had ever seen before, yet I knew it. I knew it with the certainty of a bone breaking. My name is Arthur Vane. I am a professor of history at the University of...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden ScarThe bus stopped in the gray mist. I stepped off onto the wet pavement. The air smelled of rain and old rust. I pulled my coat tight. It was heavy. It was always heavy. I walked toward the house. The street was empty. No cars. No people. Just the gray. I looked down at my chest. There was a gold pin there. It caught the dull light. It was small. It was bright. It was the only thing that...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded ApartmentThe ferns in the living room were dying, their fronds curling inward like fists closing over secrets, and David sat in the armchair that his father had bought in the mid-nineties, staring at the brown tips that threatened to consume the green, knowing with a cold, physical certainty that he had not watered them in three days, not because he was forgetful, which he was not, but because he was...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant WhispersThe smell hit me first. Not the sterile, antiseptic bite of the new dispensary wing, but something older. Earthy. Sweet. Rotting. I stood in the corridor outside Room 4B, my clipboard clutched to my chest like a shield. The tile floor was cold under my shoes. My name is Elias Thorne. I am a clerk. I count pills. I log doses. I do not taste them. But God, I wanted to. The patient was Arthur...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded AtticYou dream of the river. It is wide and gray. The water does not move. It sits like a sheet of hammered lead, reflecting a sky that has no stars. You are standing on the bank. Your shoes are wet. The mud sucks at your heels. You look down. Your reflection is not there. You are not there. Only the mud. Only the gray. You wake up in the office. The fluorescent lights hum. The hum is a low, sick...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden DowntownThe train did not stop at a station, but rather sank into the fog like a stone dropped into a deep, cold well, and when the doors opened, they did not release a crowd of passengers but a single, solitary figure who stepped out onto a platform made of polished obsidian. Elias Thorne was a man of few words and many scars, not on his skin, but in the architecture of his memory, and he carried with...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden OathThe wall did not break. It bloomed. One moment, the concrete barrier separating the detention center from the outside world was gray and cold. The next, it was a cathedral of light. It stretched upward, impossible, defying the low ceiling of the holding cell. Stone arches spun into existence, carved from pure luminescence. The air smelled of ozone and old roses. Elias Vance stood frozen. His...0 Comments 0 Shares 32 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek