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 TowerThe dream begins with the smell of ozone and wet slate, a scent that clings to the back of your throat like a forbidden word. You are standing in the center of the Great Hall of the Whitmore Industrial Foundry, a space that stretches so far into the darkness that the far wall seems to exist only in the peripheral memory of the eye. The air is thick, heavy with the invisible weight of pending...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful DinnerThe rain hit the pavement with a dull, rhythmic thud. It was the only sound in the city. Or so it seemed to Elias Thorne. He stood by the window. The glass was cold against his forehead. Outside, the streetlamps flickered. They buzzed like dying flies. Elias watched the water pool in the gutters. It formed small, dark lakes. Reflections of the broken world. He turned away from the glass. His...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale ExileThe rain did not fall so much as it hung, a grey curtain woven of mist and malice, blurring the edges of the old manor until the world beyond the glass ceased to exist. I stood by the window, watching the water trace slow, weeping lines down the pane. The stone of the house was breathing. I could feel it in my bones, a low, rhythmic thrum that matched the beating of my own heart, though mine...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden RitualThe soup was the color of old blood, thick and viscous, swirling in the heavy iron pot with a slow, hypnotic rhythm that matched the beating of Eleanor’s heart. She stood before the High Table, her hands trembling not from cold, but from the sheer, crushing weight of the expectation that pressed against her ribs. Across the polished oak, Lord Thorne sat in his velvet chair, his eyes fixed on...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden Scar"You have it." The voice was thin. It came from the shadows of the archive. Ellis did not turn. He held the ledger. The book was heavy. Its spine cracked. A smell of dust rose. It smelled of old blood. "Show me," the voice said. Ellis opened the book. He turned the page. He looked at the ink. The ink was black. It was dry. It had dried long ago. "Where?" "Look closer, Ellis." He leaned in. His...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden RitualThe rain in the city of Orenthas did not fall so much as it hovered, a suspended gray mist that clung to the cobblestones and seeped into the marrow of the bones of those who walked the narrow, winding streets of the Old Quarter, where the air smelled perpetually of wet wool, stale beer, and the metallic tang of old iron. Elias Vane, a man whose face had been carved by the same winds that had...0 Comments 0 Shares 3 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale DanceThe noise didn’t stop. It had never stopped. It was a low, electric hum that lived in the back of your teeth, a vibration that turned the air inside the bunker into something thick and syrupy. You were sitting at the desk, the one that had belonged to Director Vance, the one that smelled of stale coffee and old fear. Your hands were shaking. They were always shaking now, since the incident,...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful CampusThe seal is a circle of black iron, etched with a serpent eating its own tail. It sits in the center of your palm, cold and unyielding, a weight that has nothing to do with mass and everything to do with history. You are Captain Elias Thorne, and you are kneeling in the damp moss of the King’s private garden, the stone beneath your knees slick with the sweat of the dying afternoon. The air...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful LetterThe chandelier shattered before the clock struck midnight. It was not a sound. It was a violence. Glass rained down from the high vaulted ceiling of the Grand Hall, a cold white hail that turned the polished marble floor into a minefield. Margaret Holloway stood frozen in the center of the room, her hands raised, her eyes wide. She was wearing the gown she had saved for forty years. Silk....0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek