0 Comments
0 Shares
0 Views
0 Reviews
Directory
Discover new ideas, create new connections and make new friends
-
Please log in to like, share and comment!
-
The Golden QuestThe storm had not broken, but the air in the Hall of Whispers had grown thick with the scent of wet stone and old parchment, a scent that clung to the tongue like dust. Elias sat at the far end of the long table, his hands folded tightly over a small, velvet pouch. The fabric was threadbare, its gold embroidery faded to the color of dried blood, but the weight within it was substantial, a...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded SutraThe banquet hall was not a room, but a suspended pocket of air, drifting through a void that hummed with the static of dead stars. It was a place of impossible geometry, where the chandeliers were made of frozen lightning and the tables were long slabs of obsidian that reflected not the guests, but the memories they had tried to bury. I sat at the far end, my hands wrapped around a goblet of...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful AsylumThe rain fell in sheets of grey. It soaked the mud. It drowned the road. Thomas Ashworth walked. His boots were heavy. Water pooled in the toes. He did not look up. He looked forward. The forest closed in. The trees were old. Their bark was black. The leaves were gone. It was winter. Or it felt like winter. The air was cold. It bit his face. It cut his throat. Thomas was a soldier. He had been...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale TaleThe rain had not stopped for three days. It fell in a steady, grey curtain against the windows of the manor, blurring the line between the garden and the house. Elias Thorne stood by the fireplace, watching the embers die. He was a man of few words, a detective by trade, though his clients were rarely those who sought justice. They were those who sought silence. His mentor, Julian, sat in the...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden CircuitThe rain did not fall. It hovered. I stood at the edge of the glass. Below me, the city of New London lay in a pool of gray mist. The streets were empty. No cars. No feet on pavement. Just the silence. A heavy, wet silence. I looked at my hands. They were trembling. The skin was thin. I could see the blue veins beneath. They looked like rivers on a map. Maps I would never read again. My name is...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden MazeThe dream was a corridor of endless iron, the floor slick with a viscous, amber fluid that smelled of burnt copper and old blood, stretching out into a darkness that did not end but merely thickened until it became a solid wall of shadow against which Sergeant Elias Thorne pressed his back, his breath ragged in his chest as he watched the golden light pulse in the distance like a trapped...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale GardenThe fire started in the eaves of the conservatory. It was a small thing at first. A whisper of orange against the dark glass. Then the smell. Sulfur and dry wood. Margaret did not scream. She did not run. She stood in the center of the room, her hands gripping the back of the mahogany chair until her knuckles turned white. The heat pressed against her face like a living hand. Thomas was in the...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden MasterThe snow had stopped. It lay thick on the ground, a white shroud over the valley. Edward walked. His boots sank deep. Each step was a small death. He carried no pack. He carried only his silence. The air was cold. It cut his face. It stung his eyes. He did not blink. He walked toward the estate. The estate was closed. The windows were dark. The trees stood like skeletons. They watched him. They...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale VerdictThe mud in the trench did not smell of earth or rain, but of old copper and wet wool, a cloying, metallic tang that coated the back of Silas Thorne’s throat as he hauled the heavy, rusted iron gate of the drainage culvert upward with a groan that seemed to come from the bones of the valley itself. He was not fighting an enemy soldier in that moment, though his hands were slick with the same...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek