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 Golden QuestThe train rattled through the mist, a steel vein pumping through the grey muscle of the morning. I pressed my forehead against the cold glass, watching the countryside blur into a smear of brown and green. We were heading to the University, to the faculty gala where the new department chair, Dr. Arthur Vane, would be inaugurated. It was a small ceremony in a grand building, a contradiction that...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant CartographThe ink is dry. It has been dry for a hundred years. I sit in the high tower. The wind screams outside. It does not matter. My hands are steady. My mind is sharp. I hold the map. It is a sheet of vellum. It is thin as a leaf. It is heavy as a stone. I have drawn the coast. I have drawn the mountains. I have drawn the river. I have drawn the city. The city is small. The city is mine. I named the...0 Comments 0 Shares 3 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful AsylumThe rain against the windowpanes of the Holloway estate did not sound like water. It sounded like static, a low, humming frequency that vibrated in the teeth and settled into the marrow of the bones. Margaret stood before the full-length mirror in the master bedroom, her hands trembling slightly as she adjusted the collar of the white dress. It was a simple thing, cotton and lace, the kind her...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden MirrorThe road to the Abbey of Saint Jude did not so much end as dissolve into a mist that tasted of wet stone and ancient, forgotten grief. Elias Thorne walked with the heavy, deliberate gait of a man who carried the weight of the world not on his shoulders but in the hollows of his ribs, a weight that had settled there like silt in a stagnant river, thick and cold and impossible to dislodge. He was...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded FrontierThe mist hangs low over the soot-blackened streets of Bristol, thick as wet wool, and you are running, your lungs burning with the taste of iron and coal dust. You do not know why you are running. You only know that the weight in your chest is a living thing, a heavy, bruised plum of pain that beats in time with your heart. It is a Tuesday, perhaps, or a Thursday; the days have bled together in...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful GridThe banquet hall of the Institute for Temporal Containment smelled of roasted lamb, aged parmesan, and the distinct, metallic tang of ozone that clung to the skin of everyone present, a scent that had long since replaced the aroma of old paper and dust to become the defining perfume of their existence. Captain Elias Thorne sat at the head of the long, scarred oak table, his hands resting flat...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded RuinThe mud sucked at my boots. It was thick. Cold. It smelled of iron and rot. I dragged myself forward. One inch. Then another. My gun was heavy. My lungs burned. I could not breathe well. The air was too thin here. Too high. We were in the highlands. The sky was a bruise. Purple and grey. It hung low. It pressed against the ridge. I was alone. Or so I thought. I had lost contact with the unit...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale FractureThe train does not stop. It moves with a rhythmic, grinding persistence, a mechanical heartbeat that thuds against the steel ribs of the carriage, vibrating up through the soles of your boots and into the marrow of your shins. You sit in the corner of the window seat, your back pressed flat against the cold, curved glass. Outside, the landscape is a smear of grey and white, a blurred smear of...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale CircusThe train cut through the fog like a knife through wet paper. Elias sat in the corner of the compartment. He was twelve. His hands were still. They rested on his knees. They were pale. They were thin. The train shook. The wheels clacked. A steady rhythm. A mechanical heart. He looked at his fingers. He flexed them. He uncurled them. He held them up. He looked at the nails. They were clean. They...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek