0 Comments
0 Shares
2 Views
0 Reviews
Directory
Discover new ideas, create new connections and make new friends
-
Please log in to like, share and comment!
-
The Distant GardenThe cup was cracked. It sat on the obsidian table before me. A thin line of white ran through the black glaze. A vein of lightning frozen in ceramic. I looked at it. It looked back. The room was cold. The air smelled of wet stone and old blood. I am Sir Thomas Bradshaw. I am the King’s Shield. I am tired. The King sat behind the throne. He did not look at me. He looked at the cup. His eyes were...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded QuadrantThe bell in the clock tower struck the hour, a sound that seemed less like a signal and more like a physical blow to the chest of the city. It was the third hour, the time when the light in the Chancery Hall turned the color of old tea, thick and tannic, settling over the dust motes that danced in the shafts of sun cutting through the high, arched windows. Elias Thorne sat at his desk, a narrow...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale DanceThe bell tolls for the dead before they are cold. You know this. You always have. In the village of Oakhaven, time does not flow; it pools. It sits in the gutters, thick as oil, and you wade through it, looking for what is missing. You are the Warden. That is your title, though it holds no power in the court. It holds only weight in the chest. You walk the cobblestones, your boots clicking a...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant ThresholdThe old brass bell hung from the rafters of the village hall, its surface darkened by decades of dust and the slow, invisible rot of neglect. It was a heavy thing, a relic of a time when the town of Oakhaven had still believed in itself, a time when the boundaries between the living and the dead were not so sharply drawn in the minds of the people who walked its muddy lanes. Thomas stood before...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful CrossroadsThe rain had not stopped for three days. It fell on the mud of the borderlands, a grey, relentless sheet that turned the earth into a soup of silt and rot. Caelen walked with a limp that had nothing to do with his legs and everything to do with his marrow. He was a man of the shield, a soldier of the old pact, but his armor was gone, melted away by the heat of the last siege or perhaps by the...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded ApartmentThe iron gate of the factory is rusted shut, a jagged scar of orange across the grey fog that clings to the valley floor. You stand before it, your hand resting on the cold metal, feeling the vibration of the machinery within, a heartbeat that has not stopped in a century. You are a warrior of the old guard, your armor made not of steel but of duty, your sword a pen that writes only in ink that...0 Comments 0 Shares 40 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale BridgeThe fog did not roll in so much as it exhaled, a thick, gray breath that swallowed the iron footbridge whole and severed the two halves of the valley from one another, leaving Margaret Holloway standing on the rusted planks with the cold seeping through the soles of her boots and the weight of the silver locket in her pocket feeling less like an accessory and more like a stone tied to her...0 Comments 0 Shares 5 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden SongWe were in the basement, that place we called the vault, which was a misnomer because it held no gold, no jewels, and no state secrets, only the damp, breathing weight of the earth pressing down on our heads and the hum of the server racks that kept the whole operation alive. I remember the dream first, the way the static on the monitors had started to sing a low, resonant note that felt less...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful SkylineThe rain hits the tin roof of the precinct with a rhythmic, metallic thrum that you have learned to ignore, a sound like the ticking of a clock that measures nothing but the decay of your own composure. You are sitting at your desk, the wood scarred by years of pen points and spilled coffee, and your hands are shaking. It is not from cold. The heating system in this old municipal building...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek