0 Comments
0 Shares
4 Views
0 Reviews
Directory
Discover new ideas, create new connections and make new friends
-
Please log in to like, share and comment!
-
The Distant WoundThe siren did not wail; it hummed, a low, vibrating drone that settled into the marrow of the bone before it registered in the ear. Margaret Holloway felt it in her teeth, a grinding pressure that tasted of copper and old dust. She stood in the center of the processing room, a vast, circular space that had once been a ballroom in the old city before the walls were lined with steel and the floor...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale AltarThe banquet hall smelled of roasted duck and old stone. It was a scent that clung to the hair and settled in the throat. The candles burned low. The shadows stretched long across the polished floor. Everyone was laughing. The laughter sounded hollow. It echoed off the high, vaulted ceiling like dry leaves skittering on pavement. Elias Thorne sat at the head of the table. He was a man of few...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded QuadrantThe bread is stale. You know it is stale. The crust is hard as bone. The crumb is dry as dust. You hold it in your hand. It is a wedge of sourdough. It has been in the basket for days. The baker, Elias, brought it to the gate. He bowed his head. He did not look at you. He knew what you were. You knew what he was. The air between you is thick with rot. You are a clerk. You work in the tower. You...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant NightmareThe room was not a room, but a vast, suspended hall of polished obsidian, floating in a void that smelled of ozone and old rain. You stood at the center of a circular dais, the surface cool against your bare feet, while around you, thousands of identical figures sat in rows of high-backed chairs that stretched into an infinite, foggy distance. They were all wearing suits of grey wool, their...0 Comments 0 Shares 10 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale PathThe banquet hall of the Ironworks was not a place for silence, yet you found it in the corner where the chandeliers dipped low, their glass prisms refracting the gaslight into a million cold, sharp stars. You were not there to eat, though the smell of roasted mutton and heavy cream cakes hung thick in the air. You were there to find the coat. It was a simple thing, a woolen greatcoat of a dull,...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden HarborThe rain did not fall so much as it was exhaled from the bruised, swollen belly of the sky, a heavy, weeping sigh that pressed against the warped glass of the window until the pane groaned in its frame. Inside the cell, which was less a room than a hollowed-out vein of the earth, the air tasted of damp stone, stale tallow, and the metallic tang of old fear. Thomas Bradshaw sat upon the straw,...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful VoyageYou stand in the corridor. The air is thick. It smells of coal dust and wet wool. You are a man of the law. You wear the uniform. It fits tight at the shoulders. You feel the weight of it. It is not cloth. It is stone. You wait. The door is closed. It is heavy. It is iron. You hear breathing on the other side. It is not yours. It is small. It is quick. It sounds like a bird in a cage. You do...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale MeridianThe smell of antiseptic and stale coffee hung in the air of the disciplinary review room, a thick, cloying scent that seemed to coat the back of Sergeant Elias Thorne’s throat as he sat across from Major Julian Vane, the two of them separated by a scarred oak table that had witnessed the dismantling of men’s careers for decades. Thorne held the small, silver case in his lap, the metallic...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant LegendIt was a cold, gray Tuesday in the parking lot of the St. Jude’s Community Center when Eleanor first noticed the man who was not there, standing with his back to her, wearing a coat that smelled of wet ash and old blood, and he turned, and his face was the face of the boy she had left behind in the war, the one whose name she had tried so hard to forget that it had begun to rot inside her...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek