0 Comentários
0 Compartilhamentos
2 Visualizações
0 Anterior
Diretório
Discover new ideas, create new connections and make new friends
-
Faça o login para curtir, compartilhar e comentar!
-
The Wistful DinnerThe bread was black. Not burnt, but black. Like the soil in the churchyard where the rain had not touched for a week. It sat on the porcelain plate. It sat in the center of the table. It did not move. It did not breathe. But it was there. Elias stared at it. The loaf was dense. Heavy. It smelled of iron. It smelled of old blood. He had made it himself. Or so the town said. The town said he was...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 2 Visualizações 0 Anterior
-
The Distant TempleThe rain did not fall so much as it was pressed down from the heavens by a heavy, invisible hand. It slicked the cobblestones of the courtyard until they shone like black mirrors, reflecting the pale, trembling lanterns that lined the path to the Gate. Seraphina stood in the center of the wet stone, her hands clasped tightly before her waist. The wool of her cloak was heavy, soaked through to...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 2 Visualizações 0 Anterior
-
The Golden CellarThe cellar door is locked from the inside. You know this because you have been here for three days, and the bolt is a heavy piece of iron that has fused with the wood through time and sweat. You are a man who wears a uniform, though the fabric is now ragged and stained with the red earth of the subterranean world. You are a soldier, or perhaps a warden. The distinction has blurred in the dark....0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 2 Visualizações 0 Anterior
-
The Pale MeridianThe door to the archive room did not close so much as it ceased to exist, the heavy oak frame swinging shut with a finality that felt less like a sound and more like a sudden, suffocating absence of air in the lungs, leaving Margaret standing in the corridor with the taste of dust and old paper thick on her tongue, a flavor she had learned to associate with the preservation of things that were...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 2 Visualizações 0 Anterior
-
The Distant WhispersThe bread was dry. It sat on the tray. A square of white. Stale. The crust had turned to stone. Thomas looked at it. He was seven. His hands were small. They shook. The hall was cold. The stone floor bit through his thin soles. He wore a grey tunic. It smelled of damp wool and fear. He picked up the loaf. It was hard. Like a rock. He tried to break it. His fingers strained. The bread did not...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 2 Visualizações 0 Anterior
-
The Pale FractureThe air in the Hollow tasted of copper and rot. It hung thick, a physical weight against the skin, pressing down on the shoulders of Silas and Kael. They stood at the edge of the Chasm, the great wound in the earth where the old world had been ripped away. The sky above was not blue. It was a bruised purple, swollen with clouds that did not move. It was the Third Watch. The hour of the...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 2 Visualizações 0 Anterior
-
The Pale CircusThe train hissed into the station of Ashford, a sound like a long, dying breath. Elias Vance stepped onto the platform, his luggage a single, battered suitcase that felt heavier than it had in London. The air here was different; it tasted of salt and old iron, a metallic tang that coated the back of his throat. He was a man who counted things for a living, an actuary whose days were measured in...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 2 Visualizações 0 Anterior
-
The Golden QuestThe ink on the ledger is still wet when you first notice the stain, a dark, spreading bloom on the parchment that looks less like an error and more like a wound that refuses to close. You are sitting in the high, vaulted office of the Guild of Weavers, the air thick with the smell of old paper and the faint, metallic tang of the quill you have been gripping so tightly for hours. Outside, the...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 2 Visualizações 0 Anterior
-
The Pale CircusThe rain had not stopped for three days, a persistent, gray weeping that turned the cobblestones of the old quarter into slick, black mirrors reflecting the gaslight in trembling, amber shards. Commander Elias Thorne stood at the edge of the harbor, his uniform soaked through to the skin, the wool heavy with the dampness of the air and the weight of his own unspoken grief. He was watching the...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 2 Visualizações 0 Anterior
English
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Greek