0 Comments
0 Shares
2 Views
0 Reviews
Directory
Discover new ideas, create new connections and make new friends
-
Please log in to like, share and comment!
-
The Golden ScarThe air in the Grand Hall of the Iron Citadel tasted of copper and stale honey, a thick, cloying sweetness that coated the back of your throat and refused to dissolve. You sat at the far end of the long oak table, your plate untouched, the carved silverware cold in your hand, while the lords of the district feasted around you, their laughter rising like steam from a boiling cauldron. It was a...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden SongThe fracture was not an accident but a recalibration, a sudden and violent correction of frequency that rippled through the sterile white void where Julian stood. He held the object in his hands, a device of seamless obsidian and brushed titanium, warm to the touch and humming with a low, subsonic thrum that he could feel in the marrow of his bones. It was a mirror, though not of glass, but of...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant CartographThe dream was made of ink. Not the black of a raven, nor the deep blue of a midnight sea. It was the wet, sharp smell of iron gall. It was the taste of biting a tongue. Elias woke. The sheets were tangled. His hands were stained. He looked at them. The brown was there. Under the nails. On the palms. He had not held a pen in years. Yet the ink was there. He sat up. The room was cold. The window...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful DinnerThe rain had not stopped for three days. It fell in a steady, gray sheet against the leaded windows of the Guildhall, washing the cobblestones slick with a black mirror of the city above. You stood in the corridor, your hand resting on the hilt of your longsword. The steel was cold. Your mind was cold. You were a Warden of the First Circle, a title that meant you were a living weapon, a tool...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden SuspectI woke with the taste of copper on my tongue and the weight of a gold chain around my neck. It was not a necklace I had worn to sleep. It was thick, heavy, and warm, as if it had been sitting against my skin for years. I sat up in the dark. The moonlight from the window cut a pale square on the floor, illuminating the dust motes that danced in the stagnant air. The house was silent. That heavy,...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale ExileThe fog did not lift. It thickened. It pressed against the windowpanes of the watchtower like a living thing, a white lung breathing against the glass. Elias stood alone in the high chair, his back straight, his hands resting on the hilt of the sword that had not seen battle in thirty years. The steel was cold. The air was colder. Below, in the town square, the people moved with the sluggish...0 Comments 0 Shares 3 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant CrownThe hall smelled of wet wool and stale beer, a thick, cloying scent that clung to the back of the throat like a bad taste. We were gathered in the basement of the St. Jude’s Orphanage, a concrete box buried beneath the gray soot of the city, where the air was always still and the shadows seemed to breathe. It was a feast of sorts, though not of food. It was a feast of secrets, served on tin...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant ThresholdThe coat was wool. Navy blue. Heavy. It had belonged to my father. It was too big for me. I wore it to work. Every day. The office was cold. The building was old. Stone walls. High ceilings. Dust motes danced in the light. I was a clerk. I filed papers. I answered phones. I was invisible. The coat smelled like tobacco. And rain. And memory. It was fraying at the cuffs. The elbows were shiny. It...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale BannerThe rain had been falling since before I was born, or so it seemed, a ceaseless, gray curtain that turned the world outside the high windows of Blackwood Manor into a smear of mud and shadow, and I stood there in the corridor, holding the silver key in my hand as if it were a live coal, feeling the heat of it burn through my leather glove, knowing that if I did not open the door at the end of...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek