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 Wistful DinnerThe iron gates of the Asylum for the Insane stood open. Not swung. Just open. Like a mouth. Silent. Waiting. Elias stood on the threshold. His uniform was crisp. White. Too white. It stained easily. He knew this. He had washed it three times that week. The fabric smelled of lye and fear. It was a smell he could not scrub out. The year was 1892. The air smelled of coal smoke and wet wool....0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful PetalYou stand at the precipice of the ironclad sky, where the steam of the engine room hisses through the rivets like the breath of a dying god, and you watch the singular, impossible bloom of the Wistful Petal unfurl in the void above the churning, blackened waters of the industrial sea. It is a flower of white porcelain and spun glass, suspended in the thick, sulfurous mist that hangs over the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant GardenThe cart rolls over the cobblestones. It shakes. You feel the vibration in your teeth. The sky is low. It is gray. It presses down on the roof of the carriage. You are inside. You are not a passenger. You are the cargo. The crate is wooden. It is rough. It smells of resin and old sweat. Your head rests on a wool blanket. The wool is thick. It is itchy. It is warm. You do not move. You do not...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant CrownThe porcelain bowl sat on the center table, a white eye staring up at the low, soot-streaked ceiling of the living room, waiting for a crack that had already formed in the silence of the house. Arthur Vane stood before it, his hands clasped behind his back, his knuckles white against the dark wool of his waistcoat, and he watched the thin line of fracture that ran from the rim to the base like...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded ApartmentThe coughing fits start in the attic, a sound like wet gravel grinding against the underside of your ribs. You are alone in the house, but the silence is not empty; it is thick, pressurized, and filled with the slow, rhythmic thumping of the old cast-iron boiler in the basement. It is a sound you have known since childhood, the mechanical heartbeat of the house, but today it feels different. It...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale BridgeThe hall smelled of roasted duck and old money. Mara stood by the window. The glass was cold against her cheek. Outside, the rain fell in thin, silver sheets. It washed the city streets clean. It washed the grime off the cobblestones. It washed the world down to its bare, gray bones. Inside, the air was thick. It hung heavy with perfume and judgment. The Grand Audit was in session. Not a trial....0 Comments 0 Shares 5 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful MirrorThe train hissed against the rusted rails, a long, metallic exhalation that seemed to shudder through the very bones of the earth as it cut through the dense, gray fog that had settled over the Scottish Highlands like a shroud, and within the cramped confines of the third-class carriage, Elias Thorne sat with his hands folded tightly in his lap, the knuckles white and trembling slightly as he...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale Letter"You are cold," says the man. He does not look at me. He looks at the road. The road is white. The snow is deep. It is not snow. It is ash. It is the dust of old things. I am cold. Yes. I am so cold that my bones ache. The ache is a song. It is a low, humming song in my chest. "Who are you?" I ask. He is a tall man. He wears a coat. The coat is brown. It is old. It is patched with cloth from...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant GardenThe feast was a wound in the fabric of the evening, a sprawling, grotesque banquet of roasted meats and blackened bread that sat heavy in the stomachs of the men of the Garrison at Oakhaven. The air inside the stone hall was thick with the smell of rendered fat and the sweeter, cloying scent of the mead that flowed like a dark river from the clay jars, yet beneath these earthly odors lay the...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek