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 Faded SutraThe orchids had never wilted. They stood in the corner of the study, stiff and white, like bone. They did not breathe. They did not decay. They simply were. A constant, cold presence in the warm air of the house. I looked at them often. I checked for spots. I checked for yellowing. There was none. The glass of water in the vase remained clear. It never evaporated. It never needed refilling. It...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale AltarThe rain has been falling for three days. It drums against the glass of the study, a rhythmic, hollow sound that mimics the beating of a heart that has forgotten how to stop. You are sitting in the chair that was his. The leather is worn thin, the stitching frayed at the edges where he sat for hours, staring at the wall. You look at the window. The trees outside are pale, their leaves stripped...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden HarborI woke with the taste of salt and old copper on my tongue, the air in the cabin so thick with humidity that it felt like breathing through wet wool. The fog was not merely outside the porthole; it was inside the walls, a living, gray membrane that pressed against the glass with a persistent, almost tactile hunger. I am a structural engineer, a man who has spent thirty years calculating...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded AlibiThe bell tower did not ring. It stood in the center of the square, a hollow stone throat against the grey sky. It had been silent for three days. The city of Oren was not a large place, but it was a place that remembered. It remembered the shape of the rain. It remembered the way the cobblestones shifted under the weight of boots. It remembered Elias. Elias was not a man. He was a fixture. He...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful CipherThe rain did not fall so much as it hung in the air, a fine, grey mist that clung to the shoulders of the employees and settled into the wool of their coats, dampening the very idea of dryness in the subterranean corridors of the Bureau of Anomalous Inquiry. Elias Thorne stood before the frosted glass of his office, watching the water droplets race down the pane in erratic, desperate lines,...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded GuestThe glass bird sat on the windowsill, its wings folded tight against its body like a secret it was ashamed to keep. It was not a real bird, of course, but a construct of blown glass and lead wire, fragile as a lie and twice as brittle. Thomas Bradshaw held it in his hands, feeling the cold bite of the material against his palms, the way a shiver runs through the marrow when the truth is too...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant ThresholdThe heavy oak door of the Whitmore manor stood ajar, a dark mouth waiting to swallow the night, and Arthur Penhaligon stood before it not with the reverence of a suitor or the awe of a guest, but with the cold, dissecting gaze of a man who had been told his own mind was a locked room with no key, a vessel from which all sanity had been siphoned away by the very people who were supposed to hold...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful CampusThe stone of the college had been there before her, and it would be there after she was dust, yet in that particular autumn when the maple leaves turned the color of old rust and the air tasted of wet wool and impending snow, the building felt less like a structure of mortar and lime and more like a living thing that breathed through the cracks in its walls. Elara Vane did not see a university;...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale DanceThe ink was not merely a pigment but a living, breathing entity, a dark and viscous shadow that clung to the inside of Thomas Bradshaw’s eyelids, a persistent and haunting script that refused to be washed away by the cold, stagnant water of the basin or the rough, abrasive grit of the lye soap that smelled of pine and despair. He sat in the narrow, windowless cell of the municipal archive, a...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek