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 PortraitThe rain fell upon the mossy stones of the highland pass in a relentless, gray curtain, blurring the line between the earth and the sky until the world felt less like a place one could inhabit and more like a memory dissolving in the mind of a god who had forgotten how to hold his breath, and I walked through that dissolving world with the weight of my steel on my back and the weight of my...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful GridThe rain did not fall so much as it hung in the air, a thick, grey curtain that smelled of wet stone and old iron, and I stood in the center of the grid, that vast, impossible lattice of light that stretched from the muddy earth to the sky which was not a sky but a ceiling of swirling clouds that never moved. I had been here for three days, or perhaps three centuries, time is a slippery thing...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful PetalThe rain against the porthole of the observation deck sounded like a thousand small teeth gnawing at the glass. You pressed your forehead against the cold curve of the window, the metal biting into your skin, a sharp, clear pain that grounded you in the immediate, physical now. Below, the gray churning sea of the industrial harbor churned, indifferent and vast. You were here to say goodbye,...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale LetterThe ink had not yet dried on the final page of the treatise, a dark and viscous pool of judgment that seemed to seep into the very wood of the desk, when Margaret Holloway looked up to find the room empty, save for the ghost of a presence that lingered in the corner where the fire had burned low. "Do you see it, then?" she whispered, her voice thin and brittle as old parchment, addressing the...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded ShieldThe smell of lye soap and burnt sugar clings to your skin, a pungent reminder that you are no longer a ghost, but a body. It is the autumn of 1432, and the air in the Hall of St. Jude is thick with the scent of damp wool and fear. You stand at the threshold of the kitchen, your hands trembling not from cold, but from the sheer, crushing weight of the silence that follows your departure. You...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant ThresholdThe house breathed. That was the only way to describe it, the way the old Georgian estate in the English countryside seemed to inhale the damp morning air through its thousand cracks and exhalations, settling deeper into the earth with a groan that vibrated in the floorboards. Elias sat in the center of the library, his back against the heavy oak door, knees drawn to his chest. He was not...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale AltarThe rain did not fall so much as it hung in the air, a heavy, grey curtain that smelled of wet stone and old iron. Thomas stood in the courtyard of the St. Jude’s almshouse, his boots sinking into the mud that had turned the cobblestones into a slurry of black clay. He was twelve years old, a boy who had learned early that the world was a mechanism of cold gears, and that to survive, one had to...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded QuadrantThe iron gates of the Chateau de Lys groaned open in the grey pre-dawn, admitting a cold wind that smelled of wet stone and old blood. It was not a sound of welcome, but of judgment, as if the very walls were shifting their weight to observe who dared enter. Thomas Vane stood in the courtyard, his hands trembling not from the chill, but from the vibration that hummed in his own left hand. It...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale TaleThe coat was red. It was the only red thing in the room. The walls were beige. The floor was gray tile. The air smelled of stale coffee and wet wool. Leo sat on the plastic chair. His knees were pulled to his chest. He was twelve. He was small for twelve. His eyes were wide and dark. They did not blink. The door opened. A draft swept in. It carried the scent of rain. Margaret walked in. She...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek