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 DustThe ink was drying in the grooves of the oak table when Margaret saw the mark again. It was a spiral, no larger than a thumbnail, carved into the wood where her father had once sat, his hands stained with the black residue of the ley lines he had tried to hold together for a dying village. The community of Ashford was not a place of stone and mortar, but of breath and blood, a tight cluster of...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful VoyageMaren stood alone in the garden, her fingers buried in the cold earth. The wind cut through her wool coat, a thin, sharp blade that whispered against her skin. She did not shiver. She had forgotten how. In her hands, the roots of the white rose lay tangled and wet, a knotted thing of life and death. She pulled a strand free. It snapped. The sound was small, but it echoed in the hollow of her...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded MasqueradeThe fog rolls in thick. It smells of coal dust and wet wool. You stand on the porch of the library. The steps are slick. You hold the satchel tight against your hip. It is heavy. Not with books. With silence. Inside, the lamps buzz. The light is yellow. It stains the faces of the patrons. They look up. They do not see you. Or perhaps they do. They see the shape of a scholar. A ghost in a tweed...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden SuspectThe dream was a machine. Gears. Brass. Steam. Arthur woke with the taste of copper on his tongue. He lay still. The ceiling cracked. A spider descended. Arthur watched it. It was a small, frantic thing. He felt a strange calm. He was a man of measurements. Of tolerances. Of absolute certainty. The workshop smelled of oil. And old paper. The town of Oakhaven sat in a valley. Fog clung to the...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant TempleThe mill smells of wet wool and rust. You are twelve. Your hands are red. The water is cold. Father is gone. He left at dawn. He took the horse. He took the money. He left you here. In the spinning room. The shutters are closed. The wind whistles. It sounds like a toothache. You sit on the bench. The bobbins spin. Click. Click. Click. They are fast. They are angry. You watch them. They are like...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant WhispersThe rain did not fall so much as it was imposed upon the world. It was a gray curtain, wet and heavy, that pressed against the windows of the mill house. I sat in the dark, my back to the door, my hands resting on the table. The wood was slick with damp. I could feel the cold seeping through the grain, a physical weight that matched the ache in my shoulder. The bone was wrong. It had been wrong...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale TowerThe dream did not begin with a door, but with the weight of the key. Elias Thorne stood in the center of a room that had no walls, only a vast, suspended darkness. The air tasted of iron and ozone, a metallic tang that coated the back of his tongue. In his right hand, he held a key. It was not brass or iron, but a sliver of pale, bone-white material, etched with script so fine it seemed to...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant AffairYou have been walking for three days, or perhaps it has only been a single hour in the land of the mist, for time here does not behave as it does in the village of Oakhaven, where the clock strikes the hour with a dull, wooden thud that sounds like a bone breaking. Here, the air is thick with the scent of wet iron and old parchment, and the ground beneath your boots is not soil but a pale,...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded SutraThe banquet hall of the White Court did not smell of roasted pheasant or spiced wine, as the ledgers of the old kings had promised, but of wet ash and the cloying, metallic sweetness of rotting marrow. It was a feast that defied the natural order of things, a sprawling, grotesque abundance laid out on tables that stretched into a mist so thick it swallowed the far wall. Here, in this suspended...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek