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 Pale TaleThe fog rolled in from the marshes before dawn, thick as wool, smelling of rot and iron. I walked the ridge path, my boots sinking into the mud that clung to the soles with a persistent, sucking weight. I was not a man of the earth. I was a man of ink, of parchment, of the dry, safe warmth of the scriptorium where the air smelled of lamp oil and dried lavender. But I was here, in the village of...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant WhispersThe frost on the glass is not a barrier, you realize, but a membrane. You press your thumb against it, feeling the cold bite into the whorls of your skin, a sharp, technical warning that the temperature outside is well below the operational threshold of human comfort. You are in the archive now, or what passes for one in this fractured reality. The air smells of ozone and old paper, a scent...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded SutraThe iron gates of Blackwood Penitentiary did not creak; they groaned, a low, tectonic sound that seemed to rise from the bedrock of the hill rather than the hinges. It was a sound that lived in the marrow. Detective Silas Thorne stood before the entrance, his hands tucked into the pockets of a wool overcoat that had seen better decades, and watched the fog roll off the moor. It was 1893, the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden GreenhouseThe first thing I noticed was the smell. It was not the rotting sweetness of decay, but a thick, cloying perfume, like overripe peaches left to ferment in a sealed jar. It filled the lecture hall, a heavy blanket that pressed against the nostrils and the eyes. I was standing at the podium, my chalk dust still on my fingers, when the silence from the students turned from respectful to...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden DowntownThe fog did not lift; it merely thinned enough to reveal the jagged teeth of the city skyline, a silhouette of iron and soot that seemed to lean in against the grey sky. You stand at the edge of the district, where the cobblestones give way to the slick, oily mud of the industrial sprawl. The air tastes of coal dust and wet wool, a metallic tang that coats the back of your throat. You are a man...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale MeridianThe avalanche of ice and granite did not fall with the thunderous finality one might expect from such a catastrophe, but rather with a suffocating, grinding silence that seemed to swallow the very air from the mountain, a slow-motion descent of white death that pinned me against the ridge of the eastern slope where I had stood for thirty years guarding the boundary between the wild and the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful AsylumThe rain did not fall so much as it hung in the air, a grey, weeping curtain that blurred the edge of the world into a single, indistinct smear of mud and rot. Elias Thorne stood in the center of the clearing, his left arm hanging useless by his side, the bone beneath the skin a twisted, jagged thing that pulsed with a dull, rhythmic heat that felt less like pain and more like a second...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded RiverThe brass was cold. It bit into the meat of my thumb. I held the valve tight, fighting the steam that hissed like a living thing, a creature with teeth. The workshop smelled of ozone and old sweat. It was the smell of industry choking on its own waste. I am Elias Thorne. I fix what others break. Or rather, I fix the things that break because they are too heavy to carry. The boiler in the corner...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant JourneyI dreamed of my hands. They were not mine, or perhaps they were, but stripped of skin and bone, reduced to two grinding stones. They turned in a slow, rhythmic circle, grinding grain into flour, but the flour was black. It fell in a dark curtain, smothering the light. I woke in the cold blue pre-dawn, my fingers twitching. The parchment on my desk was still damp with ink. I had been writing the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek