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 PetalYou arrive at the gates of the White Court with your hands bound. They are not bound by rope, but by a silence so thick it chokes the air from your lungs. The iron gates are cold to the touch, colder than they should be, vibrating with a low, subterranean hum that you feel in your teeth. You do not look back. You know that if you look back, you will not find your own reflection. You will find...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful SagaThe train shook. It rattled against the tracks, a rhythmic, metallic chattering that filled the carriage. Elias sat by the window. He held a small glass bottle. It was empty. He twisted the cap. He looked at the label. *Sedative. For the nerves.* He laughed. A dry, short sound. No one looked at him. The carriage was full. Smoke hung in the air. It smelled of coal and stale tobacco. He was not...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful LetterYou are standing in the library with your back to the heavy oak doors, the air thick with the scent of decaying paper and the damp, metallic taste of rain that has been drumming against the high, arched windows for three days straight, and you are waiting for her, though you know with the cold, absolute certainty of a man who has spent forty years studying the architecture of silence that she...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant PromiseThe iron wheel of the locomotive screamed against the track, a shriek that tore through the heavy, coal-choked air of the Appalachian night, and in that moment, the world fractured into shards of burning metal and screaming wood. Captain Elias Thorne did not look at the wreckage immediately; he looked at the hands that were shaking, white-knuckled and trembling against the leather grip of his...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale ProtocolThe cellar smelled of wet stone and iron. Maren knelt. Her knees pressed into the cold flagstones. The air was thick, heavy with the scent of crushed mint and blood. She breathed it in. It tasted like copper. It tasted like home. The table was set. A long table of oak, scarred by centuries of use. On it lay the offering. A bowl of porridge, thick and gray, steaming in the chill. A loaf of...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale GardenThe ash fell like snow, but it did not melt, settling in the hollows of the stone courtyard with a silence that was heavier than the snow itself, and it was in this grey, suffocating quiet that Elara Vance, the Keeper of the Spore, stood before the Great Glass and watched the withering of the World-Tree, her fingers trembling not from the cold, which was a biting, ancient thing that crept into...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden GreenhouseThe bus smelled of wet wool and diesel, a scent that had become the olfactory signature of my commute for the last three years. I sat by the window, watching the gray fields of the county blur into a smudge of mud and mist. In my lap, I held a cardboard box. Inside, wrapped in tissue paper that had gone yellow with age, was a pair of gloves. They were not ordinary gloves. They were made of a...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful CrossroadsThe mist tasted of iron. I woke in the grass. It was not my bed. It was not my room. The sky above was a bruised purple, heavy with stars that did not blink. They hung there, fixed, like nails in wood. I sat up. My knees hurt. I looked at my hands. They were small. I am ten years old. I know this. The bones are right. The skin is thin. I remembered my name. I remembered the house. I remembered...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded ShieldWe had been waiting for the silence to break, or perhaps for the silence to finally hold, and in that suspended breath of a Tuesday afternoon where the dust motes danced in the slanting light of the attic, I watched my father, Edward, take the great iron chisel in his hand not with the hesitation of a man preparing to destroy, but with the solemnity of a priest about to perform a final rite on...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek