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 Wistful AtlasThe orchid arrived on a Tuesday, wrapped in brown paper that smelled of damp earth and old libraries. It sat on the desk of Arthur Penhaligon, Senior Compliance Officer for the Municipal Water Authority, a plant of such improbable, ghostly beauty that it seemed to defy the sterile, fluorescent purgatory of the fourth floor. Its petals were the color of bruised lavender, veined with a darkness...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded GuestThe rain lashed the window. It was not rain. It was the sea. The sea had come indoors. It had been there for a thousand years. It is always there. Miles stood in the center of the room. He was a prisoner. He was a king. The distinction had blurred. He wore a coat of grey wool. It was soaked. His hands were shaking. Not from cold. From fear. The floor was wet. The water rose to his ankles. It...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded FrontierThe dream began with the taste of ash on the tongue, a dry, metallic scorch that coated the back of Clara’s throat before she had even opened her eyes. She was lying on the cold stone floor of the Grand Hall, the air thick with the scent of ozone and old dust, her fingers buried in a pile of shattered porcelain shards. They were not just broken; they were dissolved, the glaze melting into a...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded RuinThe bell tower shakes the dust from the rafters. It is a dry, rhythmic sound. You hear it in your teeth. You hear it in the marrow of your shin bones. You are here. You have been here for three years. The stone is cold against your back. It is always cold. You are a scribe in the Order of the Silent Watch. Your job is simple. You copy the ledgers. You record the sins. You keep the accounts of...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded GuestThe rain against the window of the fourth-floor office at St. Jude’s Home for the Aged is a rhythmic, relentless static, a white noise that drowns out the hum of the fluorescent lights and the distant, muffled coughs from the hallway. You are sitting in the high-backed leather chair, the one that creaks when you shift your weight, and you are looking at the coat. It is a charcoal grey wool...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful MirrorThe train shuddered, a low, metallic groan that traveled up through the soles of my boots and settled in the base of my spine, a vibration that felt less like movement and more like the earth itself was holding its breath. I pressed my forehead against the cold glass of the carriage window, watching the gray landscape blur into a smear of mud and skeletal trees, the rhythm of the wheels...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded QuadrantThe fire started in the attic, a dry, snapping thing that ate the rafters before it ever touched the roof, and I stood in the kitchen with a glass of cold water in my hand, watching the smoke curl down through the floorboards like a black, serpentine tongue tasting the air. It was a Tuesday, or perhaps a Wednesday; time had become a fluid, unreliable substance in the village of Oakhaven,...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful DinnerThe house was bleeding again, a slow, viscous oozing of rust-colored damp that seeped up from the cellar floor and stained the whitewashed walls like old, dried blood. I stood in the center of the kitchen, the only room in the sprawling, rotting Victorian manor that still held a semblance of structural integrity, and watched the water spread across the linoleum in a pattern that resembled the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded RootThe banquet hall of the Department of Internal Stability smelled of boiled cabbage and old copper, a scent that seemed to seep into the marrow of the bones of those who lingered within its high, vaulted ceilings. We sat in a long semicircle of mahogany chairs, the wood polished to a mirror sheen that reflected our own hollowed faces back at us with a cruel, silent judgment. At the head of the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek