0 Comments
0 Shares
31 Views
0 Reviews
Directory
Discover new ideas, create new connections and make new friends
-
Please log in to like, share and comment!
-
The Faded Bouquet"You’re late," I say. My voice sounds thin. Like paper. We are standing in the corridor. The floor is black tile. It shines. It reflects our shoes. My sister, Clara, looks at me. She does not blink. Her eyes are wide. They are too bright. "Did you bring it?" she asks. I nod. My hand is in my pocket. My fingers curl around the object. It is cold. It is wet. I do not want to touch it. But I...0 Comments 0 Shares 26 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded BouquetYou strike the first blow. It is a clean, technical cut. The blade of the argument severs the air. You are the warrior here. You are the one with the edge. The room is a sterile white box. Fluorescent lights hum at a frequency that grates against the teeth. It is a boardroom, but it feels like an interrogation cell. The glass wall reflects your own face back at you. Pale. Tight. Ready. Across...0 Comments 0 Shares 29 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded RuinThe air in the Hall of Records did not smell of dust, as one might expect from a place devoted to the preservation of the past, but of ozone and burnt copper, a sharp, metallic tang that clung to the back of the throat and refused to be washed away. It was the smell of the Great Engine, the massive, humming apparatus that sat in the center of the rotunda, a beast of brass and glass that...0 Comments 0 Shares 27 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant BladeThe room smelled of stale coffee and floor wax. It was a smell that had seeped into the walls over decades, a grey, institutional scent that clung to the wool of uniforms and the skin of men who had forgotten how to wash it off. Elias stood by the window, looking out at the parking lot. The asphalt was black and cracked. A single crow sat on the hood of a sedan, ruffling its feathers. It looked...0 Comments 0 Shares 26 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded FrontierThe rain did not fall so much as it stood, a grey curtain drawn tight against the jagged spine of the White Peaks. Elias Thorne stood at the edge of the precipice, his boots caked in the red clay of the highlands, and watched his brother, Silas, walk away into the mist. There was no farewell, only the rhythmic thud of Silas’s boots on the wet stone, a sound that seemed to echo inside Elias’s...0 Comments 0 Shares 31 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful MirrorThe fog did not merely sit upon the moor; it inhabited the air, a thick, wet wool that pulled at the lungs and dampened the sound of the world into a muffled, gray silence. Elias Thorne walked through it, his boots sinking into the peat with a soft, sucking resistance, each step a deliberate act of endurance against the creeping numbness of the October wind. He was not a man accustomed to the...0 Comments 0 Shares 28 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful MirrorThe silence of the Hall of Mirrors was not an absence of sound but a heavy, living substance that pressed against the eardrums with the weight of centuries, a suffocating velvet that swallowed the faintest whisper of a breath before it could reach the air. I stood at the far end of the corridor, my back to the grand tapestry that depicted the Fall of the Old World, my hands resting lightly on...0 Comments 0 Shares 30 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded RiverThe castle did not breathe; it stood, a calcified monument to a silence that had been growing for three centuries, its stone walls absorbing the light of the dying afternoon and returning it as a cold, grey pulse that thrummed against the ribs of Margaret Holloway, who stood in the center of the Great Hall with the weight of her own history pressing down upon her shoulders like a physical...0 Comments 0 Shares 30 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded ParadoxYou are standing in a room that does not exist, or perhaps it is the only room that ever has. The walls are made of a pale, fibrous material that pulses faintly, like the lining of a throat. It is soft to the touch, warm, and it breathes against your palms with a rhythm that matches your own. You know this place. You have been here before, in the quiet hours between one heartbeat and the next,...0 Comments 0 Shares 32 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek