0 Comments
0 Shares
0 Views
0 Reviews
Directory
Discover new ideas, create new connections and make new friends
-
Please log in to like, share and comment!
-
The Faded AlibiThe smoke did not rise; it hung, a grey, suffocating blanket that tasted of wet ash and the metallic tang of blood, settling over the soot-blackened cobblestones of Millhaven like a shroud that refused to be peeled away. You stand there, your fingers caked in grime, your lungs burning with the acrid air, watching the inferno that has just swallowed the textile mill, the place where you have...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded RootThe air in the bunker tasted of iron and wet stone. Sergeant Elias Thorne pressed his back against the cold concrete, his rifle steady despite the tremor in his hands. Outside, the silence was not empty. It was heavy, a physical weight pressing against the steel doors. He was not fighting an enemy he could see. He was fighting the idea of the enemy. The briefing had been brief, clinical, and...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful IncenseThe rain did not fall; it hung in the air, a grey, suspended mist that smelled of wet copper and old pennies. You stood on the corner of Fourth and Main, the collar of your heavy wool coat turned up against the damp chill, holding the tin can. It was dented, rusted at the seams, and it smelled of sage. To the people rushing past, hunched under black umbrellas like mushrooms sprouting from the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded ChronicleThe iron gates shudder. You do not see the hand that pushes them. You only feel the cold bite of the metal against your cheek, the taste of rust and old blood flooding your mouth. This is the third time. The walls of this place are not stone. They are bone. White and slick, curving around you in a spiral that never ends. You are running. Your lungs burn like coals. You are a sinner, and this is...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful AshesThe train shuddered to a halt at the edge of the Grey District, the wheels locking with a screech that sounded like a bone snapping. I stepped onto the platform, my breath misting in the cold air that smelled of ozone and burnt sugar. The city before me was a labyrinth of grey stone and glass, towering spires piercing the low, bruised clouds. It was beautiful in the way a knife is beautiful,...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded QuadrantThe rain had not stopped for three days, turning the highland road into a slurry of brown mud and shattered heather that sucked at the boots of the men marching north. Thomas Ashworth walked at the rear of the column, his hand resting on the pommel of a sword that had seen better centuries. He was not a soldier in the traditional sense, nor a knight in the shining armor of legend, but a Warden...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant ThresholdThe loom stood in the center of the great hall like a wooden cross, silent and heavy. Aldous sat before it. His hands were still. The wool was white, stark against the dark oak frame. It did not move. The air in the chamber was cold. It smelled of dust and old stone. Outside, the rain hammered against the high, narrow windows. The sound was a constant drumming. It filled the silence of the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden CompassThe ice had to break. It always did. I stood on the black water. The sky was a bruise, purple and swollen, hanging low over the harbor. The cold was not a feeling. It was a weight. It pressed against my ribs. It filled my lungs. I could not breathe. I could not move. Thomas stood behind me. His face was pale. His eyes were wide. He looked at the ice. He looked at me. He did not speak. He never...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant JourneyThe rain did not fall. It hung. A gray shroud over the courtyard. The stones were slick. I wiped the mud from my boots. The leather was stiff. It did not give. It had not given in years. I pulled the boots off. My feet were raw. Blisters. Old scars. The pain was a dull throb. I knew the rhythm. I looked at the uniform. It hung on a hook. The velvet was dark. Black. The gold braid was tarnished....0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek