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 Distant MachineThe rain on the windowpane sounds like static. You watch it slide down, a slow, viscous tear in the glass, and you wonder if that is how the truth moves through this institution. It is not a sudden break. It is a seep. You are sitting at your desk in the Bureau of Anomalous Containment, a room that smells of wet wool and ozone, the kind of smell that gets into your lungs and stays there,...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded QuadrantThe air in the undercroft was thick, tasting of damp stone and old iron. Silas did not blink. He kept his eyes fixed on the wall, where the moss grew in a slow, creeping tide. The light from the single tallow candle flickered, casting long, wavering shadows that danced like restless spirits. He was alone. This was the rule. The rule was the only thing that remained when the world above had...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful SilenceThe door is heavy. It is made of oak. It does not open easily. You stand before it. Your hand is on the handle. The metal is cold. You know what is inside. You have always known. The walls are thin. The air is stale. It smells of old paper and dust. It smells of time. "You are late," the voice says. It comes from behind the door. It is a soft voice. It is the voice of Thomas. You know it well....0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant CartographThe cloak was red. Not the bright red of a poppy or a brick. It was the dull, heavy red of dried blood. I wore it for three days before I noticed the stain. My name is Elian. I am twelve years old. I am small for my age. My bones are sharp. I walk with a limp. The left leg. It is shorter. I do not know why. I do not ask. I am on the road. The road is mud. The mud is black. It sucks at my boots....0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded ShieldThe ink did not dry. It pooled. It bled into the grain of the oak table, darkening the wood until the surface looked wet, like skin. Elias watched the drop fall from his pen. He watched it hit the ledger page. He watched it spread. He did not move. The room was cold. It was always cold in the Archive, a subterranean vault beneath the city where the heat of the industrial age could not reach....0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant GhostThe feast had been going on for three days when the silence finally became louder than the music. We were gathered in the great hall of Ashworth Manor, a place where the stone walls seemed to breathe with the cold of centuries, and the air was thick with the scent of roasted lamb, spiced wine, and the heavy, cloying perfume of lilies that lined every table. I sat at the far end, away from the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded AtticThe attic of the house on Harcourt Lane had not been opened in eleven years, not since the day Eleanor Voss drove her aunt Violet Marcy's coffin out to East Finchley Cemetery and locked the front door with a key she immediately dropped into the Thames. She told no one. She did not cry. She went home, made a cup of tea, and drank it standing at the kitchen window, looking at nothing in...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale DoorThe house died by degrees, a slow suffocation of smoke and silence that began not with a bang, but with the hiss of gas escaping a cracked pipe in the basement. Captain Elias Thorne found the smell before he found the fire, a sweet, cloying rot that clung to the back of his throat like a bad word. He was standing in the hallway of his own home, his service revolver heavy in his right hand, his...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant TempleThe sword broke. It snapped at the hilt. A clean severance. The blade fell into the mud. The hilt remained in Thomas’s hand. He stared at it. The wood was splintered. The iron pommel was cold. He looked up. The Duke stood ten paces away. His armor was polished. It reflected the grey sky. The sky was heavy. It pressed down on the field. The air smelled of wet wool and blood. Thomas did not run....0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek