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 CrossingThe coat did not fit me. It was too large, the sleeves hanging past my fingertips like the flapping wings of a dead bird, and the fabric, a heavy wool of indeterminate grey, smelled of wet stone and old iron. I had found it draped over the back of a chair in the parlor of the house where I had been confined for three days, a house that seemed to exist in a crease of time I could not name. There...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant LegendThe cafeteria of the St. Jude’s Home for Displaced Youth smelled of boiled turnips and industrial floor cleaner, a scent that seemed to permeate the very walls, clinging to the wool of one’s sweater and the lining of one’s lungs. It was a place where time did not flow but pooled, stagnant and thick, in the corners of the room where the fluorescent lights buzzed with a frequency that felt less...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden CrossingThe fog did not lift. It calcified. It hung over the city of Aethelgard like a shroud of wet wool, smelling of iron and rotting lilies. The air was thick, viscous. It pressed against the skin. It weighed on the lungs. Here, in the shadow of the Spire, the light did not break through. It died. Julian Vane stood at the edge of the precipice. He was a man of precise angles. His coat was gray,...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden MythThe bone in my left knee had been singing since morning. It was not a pain, not exactly, but a low, resonant hum that traveled up the shaft of the femur and settled behind my eyes like a held breath. I pressed my thumb against the joint, feeling the grit of cartilage grinding against cartilage, and watched the dust motes dance in the single shaft of light that pierced the heavy velvet curtain...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant ClueThe fog swallowed the bridge. It did not roll in; it arrived with the sudden, violent certainty of a verdict. One moment, the gray water of the Hudson lay flat and indifferent under the October sun. The next, a wall of white mist erased the far bank, the city skyline, and the sky itself. You stood on the pedestrian walkway, your breath hitching in your throat. The air tasted of wet concrete and...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded RiverThe grease under your fingernails is a permanent fixture. It is not dirt. It is history. You scrub until the skin whistles, until the nails split, but the dark stays. It lives in the whorls of your fingers. You are Margaret. You are the mechanic. You are the one who fixes the engines of the Ironwood Mill. You do not fix them for love. You fix them for survival. The mill is the only thing...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant ClueThe bell rang at dawn. It was not the church bell, which hung silent in the cracked steeple of St. Jude’s, but the heavy iron clapper in the courtyard of the Ashworth estate. Margaret Holloway stood at the window. She did not look out. She looked at the mirror on the table. Her face was pale. Her hands were steady. She held the chalice. It was silver. It was cold. It was the only thing in the...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden ScarThe hum was constant. It lived in the walls of the Institute, a low-frequency vibration that settled in the teeth. Elias stood by the window. The glass was thick. Outside, the rain fell in sheets, gray and relentless. Inside, the air was sterile. It smelled of ozone and antiseptic. He was not human. Or rather, he was no longer entirely human. The change had been gradual. Then it was not. It was...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful PetalThe banquet hall of the estate did not smell of roasted pheasant or spiced wine, as the invitations had promised, but of wet limestone and the metallic tang of old blood that seemed to seep up through the cracks in the marble floor. Captain Elias Thorne stood at the periphery of the room, his uniform immaculate, the brass buttons catching the flickering light of a hundred tallow candles that...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek