0 Comments
0 Shares
1 Views
0 Reviews
Directory
Discover new ideas, create new connections and make new friends
-
Please log in to like, share and comment!
-
The Faded AtticThe rain did not fall so much as it descended, a thick, grey curtain drawn tight against the high, arched windows of the Magistrate’s office, blurring the city into a smear of wet stone and distant gaslight. I sat in the heavy oak chair, the leather creaking under the weight of my silence, watching the water trace erratic paths down the glass. Outside, the streets of London were a labyrinth of...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale AltarThe frost had not melted. It sat on the windowpane like a skin, thin and white, trapping the cold inside the room. Margaret stood by the glass, her breath fogging the center of the pane. She wiped it away with her thumb. The view was the same. The yard. The dead grass. The old oak tree at the edge of the property. It was a good tree. Or it had been. Now it was just wood and silence. She turned...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden RitualThe bell rang. It did not chime. It screamed. A high, thin shriek that tore through the silence of the office like a nail pulled from dry wood. I flinched. My hand tightened on the edge of the desk. The wood was cold. I liked the cold. It kept the heat out. "Stop it," I whispered. The bell rang again. I looked up. The room was empty. No one was there. No one was ever there. Just the files....0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant ClueThe feast was not a celebration but a siege, a suffocating miasma of roasted meat and stale ale that hung heavy in the stone vault of the Great Hall, where the tallow candles guttered and died one by one, leaving only the pale, sickly glow of the moon filtering through the high, narrow windows to illuminate the dust motes dancing in the stagnant air. Sir Thomas Bradshaw sat at the head of the...0 Comments 0 Shares 32 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden ScarThe iron taste of blood coats your tongue as the first blow lands, a heavy, dull thud that vibrates through the brittle architecture of your jaw and settles deep into the marrow of your skull. You are on your knees in the damp, mossy courtyard of the High Spire, the stone slick with rain and the lingering residue of a conflict that has lasted for days, or perhaps centuries, the timeline blurred...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden CompassThe salt air had long since corroded the hinges of our carriage door, so that every time I pushed against it to keep the wind at bay, it groaned with a sound not unlike a man’s last breath, and we moved forward into the grey, endless expanse of the heath, where the sky hung low and heavy as a wet wool blanket, pressing the earth down into silence. I held the loaf of bread in my left hand, the...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden SongThe bus had been delayed for an hour, a fact that made the air in the waiting room of St. Jude’s Community Center feel thicker, more viscous. I sat on a plastic chair that groaned under my weight, my hands resting on my knees, fingers tapping a rhythm that no one else could hear. Outside, the rain fell in steady, grey sheets against the glass, blurring the view of the parking lot where a single...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden SongThe dream was not of light, but of weight. It was a heaviness that settled in the marrow of Dr. Arthur Penhaligon’s bones, a density that defied the physics of sleep. He lay in the narrow, iron-framed bed of his study, the air thick with the scent of decaying paper and the metallic tang of old blood. Outside, the London fog pressed against the windowpane like a living thing, erasing the...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden MasterThe fog in the valley did not rise so much as it pooled, a thick, grey wool spun by unseen fingers, swallowing the stone paths and the skeletal remains of the old orchards. It was a cold that bit through wool and skin alike, settling into the marrow, a persistent ache that whispered of hunger. Elara walked. She had walked for three days, or perhaps three weeks; time had lost its rigid shape in...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek