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 Golden CrossingThe rain against the plexiglass walls of Sector 4 did not fall; it accumulated, a slow, viscous weeping that blurred the horizon between the sterile white corridors and the abyss beyond. Captain Elias Thorne stood before the containment unit, his uniform pressed to a severity that seemed to absorb the ambient light, his hands clasped behind his back in a gesture of rigid, professional...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant JokeThe glass shattered. It was not a loud sound. It was a sharp crack, like a knuckle breaking in the cold. The mirror in the hallway hall fell in pieces. Silver shards scattered across the hardwood floor. They glittered in the dim light. Elias stood still. He held the hammer in his right hand. His arm was trembling. He did not drop it. He looked at the glass. He looked at his hands. The house was...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden MythThe wine was thick as blood, and the smell of roasting lamb hung in the air like a heavy curtain, masking the scent of damp wool and old stone. I sat in the corner of the Great Hall, my hands wrapped around a chipped clay cup, watching the light from the tallow candles flicker against the high, vaulted ceiling. The air was thick with noise. Laughter. Clanking plates. The low, rumbling drone of...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale LetterThe rain did not fall so much as it hung in the air, a suspended grey curtain that smelled of wet ash and the metallic tang of old pennies, blurring the edges of the city into a watercolor smear of slate and iron. I was running, my lungs burning with a sharp, acidic pain that felt less like exertion and more like a foreign object being driven into my chest, when the letter finally tore free...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded SutraThe banquet hall is white. It is a blinding, sterile white. You stand at the head of the table. The chairs are empty, yet the air hums with the weight of ghosts who never arrived. The chandelier above you is a spider made of crystal and cold iron. It does not sway. It never sways. You are a man of the law. You are a soldier of the institution. You have worn the uniform for twenty years. The...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded AtticThe moth hit the window. It did not die. It merely pressed its wings against the glass, a frantic, dry vibration against the cold. Eleanor watched it. She did not look away. The attic was her office now. It was also her prison. The air smelled of dust and old paper, a dry, papery scent that coated the back of her throat. She sat at the desk. The desk was heavy oak. It had been there for a...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden MasterThe dream was a field of broken glass. It stretched out to the horizon, glittering under a sun that felt too hot, too close. Julian woke with the taste of iron on his tongue. He was in a motel room in Tucson, the air conditioner humming a low, persistent thrum against the silence. Outside, the desert heat was already rising, baking the asphalt. He was a man who had come from the cold, from the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded ShieldI woke from the dream with the taste of iron on my tongue. It was a thick, metallic flavor, like biting into a coin. The sun was just breaking over the hills of Oakhaven, painting the stone walls of the chapel in hues of bruised purple and pale gold. I sat up. My head throbbed. The dream was gone, but the weight of it remained. It had been a simple dream. A shield. A great, round shield of oak...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful CampusThe clock in the hallway of the Whitmore estate had not kept time for three years, its pendulum a frozen weight of brass and dust, yet Arthur Penhaligon checked it every morning with the rigid discipline of a man waiting for a verdict. It was a large house, built in the late Victorian era when the ironworks in the valley below were still churning out enough smoke to grey out the morning sun,...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek