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 Wistful CrossroadsThe rain in Vienna did not wash things clean; it merely made the grime heavier, turning the cobblestones into slick mirrors of the gas lamps that flickered above them. I stood on the corner of Graben, my coat soaked to the bone, watching the carriage pass with the empty space where my father had been. He was not dead, of course. That was the lie I told myself, a polite fiction to keep the world...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden VisitThe rain did not fall. It hovered. I stood at the edge of the grey water. The mist was thick, a physical weight against my lungs. I breathed it in. It tasted of iron and old stone. I was not a man of the land. I was a man of the law. But the law had no reach here. Not in the Hollow. Not in the time before the clocks were invented. My name is Elias Thorne. I wore the grey coat of the Warden. The...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale ShadowsThe road to the Abbey was long. It wound through the mist. The mist was thick. It tasted of iron. I walked. My feet bled. I did not feel it. I carried the box. The box was heavy. It held a sparrow. A black sparrow. Its eyes were open. They were white. They were blind. But it lived. I could hear its heart. It beat against my ribs. We climbed the hill. The Abbey stood above. It was made of stone....0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded RuinThe house holds its breath. You know this because the silence is not empty. It is full. It is a living thing, pressing against your eardrums, thick as wet wool. You sit in the chair by the window. The wood is worn smooth under your palms. It knows your hands. It has known them for forty years. The paint is peeling in long, curled strips. You watch them fall. They drift to the floor like dead...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale MistThe bell tower cracked. It did not shatter. It did not explode. It split. A fissure, thin as a hair, ran from the apex to the base. Dust fell like snow. Silence rushed in to fill the gap. Elara stood in the courtyard. She wore the grey habit. The wool was thick. It was heavy. It clung to her skin. It was her skin. The mist rolled in. It was pale. It was cold. It smelled of ozone and old paper....0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded QuadrantThe rain in the High Valleys did not fall so much as it descended, a slow, grey curtain that eroded the stone and the spirit in equal measure. Elias Thorne walked with a gait that had once been brisk, now heavy with the weight of a man who carries not a bag, but a history. He was a glassblower by trade, a craftsman whose fingers had once shaped molten silica into delicate, singing vessels, but...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant WoundThe fog does not lift. It thickens. You are here. You remember the name you had. It was heavy. It was wet. It tasted of iron and rain. You do not say it. Words have weight. Words break. You are light now. You are ash. The village is a cage of stone. The walls are high. The stones are black. They hum. A low sound. Like a bee. Like a dying lung. The air is cold. It bites. You feel the teeth in...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant JokeThe rain fell in sheets of iron against the slate roof of the keep, a rhythmic, hammering percussion that seemed to beat against the very marrow of Aldous Thorne’s bones, and he stood there, not in the comfort of his own study but in the center of the great hall where the air was thick with the smell of wet wool and old blood, watching the thing that had come for him unfold itself with the...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded RoadThe rain hits the slate. It sounds like applause. You are on your knees in the mud. The mud is cold. It seeps into your bones. You are trying to hold the door shut. The wood groans. It splinters. Your hands are bleeding. The blood mixes with the rain. It smells like iron. It smells like old copper. You are the keeper. You are the warden. You are the prisoner. The house is the cage. The house is...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek