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 Pale PathThe hall smelled of burnt sugar and stale beer. We were packed into the Community Center in Oakhaven, sweating through our cheap suits, listening to the Mayor drone on about the new zoning laws. I sat near the back, nursing a plastic cup of something brown and cold. My name is Silas. I am a thief. I have been a thief for thirty years. I am good at it. I am not proud of it, but I am not ashamed...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden CompassThe rain smells of iron. You know the scent. It is the scent of blood. You press your face into the mud. The cold bites your skin. You are shivering. The shiver is not from the cold. It is from the fear. You are running. The mud sucks at your boots. Each step is a war. You are a scholar. You know this. You have the book. The book is heavy. It is wrapped in oilcloth. It is safe. You must reach...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded ParadoxThe copper plating on the railing of the mill’s main catwalk was slick with the condensation of a decade’s worth of industrial humidity, and you gripped it with a hand that had never known the softness of cotton, your fingers digging into the metal as if trying to extract the truth from the cold, unyielding surface, while the gears below you groaned in a low, rhythmic frequency that you had...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden EchoesThe rain did not fall so much as it hung in the air, a suspended, gray curtain that dissolved the boundary between the cobblestones of the street and the wet, breathing pavement, where Margaret Holloway stood with her chin raised against the deluge, her fingers wrapped so tightly around the brass handle of her umbrella that the knuckles had turned the color of old bone. She was not waiting for...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale AltarThe train did not run on tracks. It ran on a thin ribbon of white mist that hung suspended over a chasm so deep the bottom was a rumor. Margaret held her handkerchief against her nose, the fabric damp with the scent of ozone and old blood. The air inside the carriage was thick, tasting of copper and rust, and the windows were not glass but polished mirrors that showed no reflection of the...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful LetterThe ink was wet. It glistened like a wound on the parchment, black and viscous, smelling of iron and burnt honey. I held the quill, my hand trembling not from cold, though the air in the tower was bitter, but from the sheer weight of the words I had just scrawled. They were not my words. They were not my will. They were the script of a hunger that had lived in the marrow of my bones for a...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded QuadrantThe building breathes, that is the only way to describe it, a slow, rhythmic expansion and contraction of its very bones that I feel in the soles of my shoes as I stand before the main entrance, a structure of glass and steel that was meant to be eternal but has begun to rot from the inside out, the paint peeling in long, sickly strips that resemble the shedding skin of a serpent, and I am...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale TowerThe champagne was warm, the kind of mistake that only happens when the cellar door is left ajar too long in a July heat that presses against the glass like a fever. Julian laughed, a sharp, bright sound that cut through the low hum of the dinner party. He was in his element, or so he told himself, standing in the center of the grand hall of the Whitmore estate, holding a flute of fizzing gold....0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful MountainThe rain did not fall. It hung. It was a thick, grey veil of mist that clung to the granite teeth of the Blackwood Ridge, erasing the line between the sky and the stone. I walked with my pack heavy on my shoulders. The straps bit into my skin. The mud sucked at my boots with a wet, sucking sound. I was alone. Or so I thought. My name is Elias. I am a soldier. I have worn the grey uniform of the...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek