0 Comments
0 Shares
37 Views
0 Reviews
Directory
Discover new ideas, create new connections and make new friends
-
Please log in to like, share and comment!
-
The Distant WhispersThe river did not run water but a thick, viscous slurry of black oil and broken glass, a mirror that had been shattered by a giant fist and reassembled with no regard for the original pattern, reflecting back to Elias not the sky above him but a distorted, screaming version of his own face, stretched and warped until it was no longer recognizable as human but rather a grotesque caricature of...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale ShadowsThe cold in the Hall of Echoes did not sit upon the skin so much as it settled into the marrow, a slow, creeping frost that numbed the extremities before it reached the heart, and it was here, in this cavernous space where the air tasted of damp stone and old dust, that Elias Thorne stood alone, his hands resting heavily upon the worn velvet ropes that separated the public from the artifact,...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden HarborThe stone of the Abbey walls wept with a cold that had nothing to do with the weather, a dampness that seeped into the marrow of anyone who spent their nights in the scriptorium, and for Elara, the daughter of the fallen King, it felt less like moisture and more like the slow, inevitable leakage of her own dwindling life force. She sat at the heavy oak desk, the surface scarred by the knives of...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded RoadThe frost bit into the leather of Captain Elias Thorne’s gloves. He gripped the reins, his knuckles white against the cold air. The train screamed. The whistle cut through the silence of the pine forest like a blade. "Easy," Elias muttered. His voice was a rasp, dry as the dead leaves underfoot. "Hold the line." The engine hissed, a long, dying exhalation. Steam poured from the cylinders,...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale BonsaiThe air in the Ministry of Aesthetic Compliance was always stale, recycled through filters that smelled faintly of ozone and crushed lavender. It was a scent designed to soothe the nerves of those who served the High Council, but it only made my head ache. I sat at my desk, a slab of polished obsidian, and stared at the object before me. It was a bonsai, no larger than a teacup, its bark pale...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded DustThe iron gate of St. Jude’s Correctional Facility did not creak, nor did it groan under the weight of the wind that whipped off the grey, featureless moor; it simply existed, a vertical slab of rusted metal that stood as a silent, immovable argument against the concept of freedom, and within its shadow, Elias Thorne sat on a bench of cold stone, his hands resting in his lap, fingers interlaced...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale PathThe parchment was not merely a document but a living thing, breathing with the faint, dry rustle of centuries, and it lay upon the black oak table like a pale, limp skin that had been peeled from a body long since forgotten, while the candlelight flickered in the drafty tower room, casting long, trembling shadows that danced across the walls as if the very stones of the keep were trying to...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful AtlasThe dream begins with the smell of wet copper and the sound of your own breathing, which is too loud, too wet, and entirely too much like the sound of the mill’s steam valve leaking in the dark. You are standing in the middle of the town square in Harrowgate, but the cobblestones are soft under your boots, giving way like mud, like flesh, like the earth itself is trying to digest you before you...0 Comments 0 Shares 4 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden OathThe hall smelled of yeast and old wool. Miles stood by the door. He did not enter. Not yet. His boots were polished to a mirror shine. The leather was tight across the toes. He had walked six miles to get here. The town of Oakhaven lay behind him. Silent. Dark. He looked at the crowd. Hundreds of faces. Eyes on him. Not with love. With fear. Or perhaps anger. It was hard to tell. The light was...0 Comments 0 Shares 17 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek