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 Faded ApartmentThe road to the house was a ribbon of mud and gravel that wound through the autumn woods, and the boy, Thomas, walked it alone because he had decided, with the rigid certainty of a child who believes he has solved the universe’s riddle, that he would not be carried. He was nine years old, small for his age, with hair the color of wet straw and eyes that were always looking for something just...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded RuinThe bread was black. Not the rich, toasted brown of a hearth-baked loaf, but a deep, charcoal void, dense as wet earth. It sat on the silver plate, uncut, waiting. Thomas Bradshaw woke with the taste of ash on his tongue. He did not open his eyes. To open them would be to acknowledge the light, and the light in the City of St. Jude’s was a harsh, interrogating white that offered no shadows in...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant NightmareThe candle guttered in the draft, casting long, trembling shadows against the damp stone walls of the cellar. Elara sat on a cold iron bench, her back straight, her hands folded in her lap. They were rough hands, the skin cracked and flaking, stained with the residue of lye and old blood. She did not look at the door. She did not need to. She knew the weight of the footsteps above, the slow,...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant MetropolisThe cellar smelled of wet limestone and the sweet, heavy rot of overripe pears. Elias sat on a stool, his back straight, his hands resting on his knees as if they were tools he had set down for the moment. Above him, the floorboards of the house creaked with the weight of the night. He was not waiting for anyone. He was waiting for the truth to settle into the floor, to become part of the...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful PetalDr. Elias Thorne stood in the rain. The glass was fogged. He pressed his forehead against it. Cold. Outside, London blurred. Grey. Wet. He looked at his hand. The skin was tight. The veins were blue. Dark. Prominent. He watched a car pass. The wipers beat. Thud. Thud. Thud. He turned back. The office was dark. A single lamp burned. Yellow. Harsh. On the desk, a file lay open. Paper. White....0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded RuinThe rain falls not as water, but as a fine, grey dust that settles into the creases of your skin, a particulate silence that coats the tongue with the taste of iron and old stone. You stand at the threshold of the Grand Hall, a vast, cathedral-like chamber where the air is thick with the scent of damp velvet and the slow, rotting sweetness of decay. It is a place of power, or was, in the time...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful SilenceThe fire did not begin with a spark, but with a smell, a thick, sulfurous tang that curled through the eaves of the mill town of Oakhaven like a ghost refusing to leave its body, and it was this scent, rather than the visible flame, that first signaled the end of everything Elias Thorne had built with his own two hands, and he stood in the doorway of his workshop, the soot already caking the...0 Comments 0 Shares 38 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded BouquetThe hall smelled of wax and rot. We stood in the dark. The torches burned low. Red light. Shadows stretched long across the stone floor. I held my breath. My fingers tightened on the hilt of my sword. It was not mine. It was small. Too small for my hands. But it was sharp. I looked up. The King sat on the throne. He was old. His skin was like parchment. Thin. Translucent. Veins pulsed blue...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale GardenThe house breathed. That was the only way I knew how to describe it. Not a creak, not a settle, but a rhythmic, tidal expansion of the plaster and oak, a slow inhalation of the damp air from the moors that pressed against the windows of Ashworth Hall. I had lived here for three years with Elias, and in three years, I had never once heard him breathe while he slept. He was a man of stillness, a...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek