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 MirrorThe air in the Hall of Whispers did not smell of dust, as one might expect in a place so old, but of wet stone and the faint, metallic tang of old blood that had long since dried into the mortar. Elias Thorne moved through the corridor with the heavy, deliberate gait of a man whose joints had begun to calcify under the weight of his own history. He was a mason, a keeper of the walls, a man who...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant NightmareThe porcelain did not shatter with a crash, but with a sigh, a long, thin exhale of glass and clay that seemed to carry the weight of centuries in its falling. It was a teacup, blue and white, painted with a landscape so detailed one could almost smell the rain on the distant hills depicted in its glaze. I held it in my hands, feeling the coldness of the ceramic seep into my pores, a chill that...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded QuadrantThe banquet hall smelled of roasted pheasant and stale iron, a cloying sweetness that hung in the air like a heavy, damp blanket. I sat at the far end of the long mahogany table, my uniform pressed tight against my chest, the brass buttons cold against my skin. Around me, the officers of the 14th Ironclad Division laughed, their voices echoing off the vaulted ceilings, a cacophony of...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful AshesThe ceiling cracked. It did not shatter; it peeled. Long, white ribbons of plaster curled away like dead skin, revealing the dark, wet wood beneath. I sat on the floor of my cell. The air was thick. It tasted of iron and old rain. I waited. They called it the Quiet House. No one spoke. Not the guards. Not the prisoners. Not the rats that scurried in the corners. We were all mute. We were all...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded ApartmentThe air in the cellar of the old apothecary on Baker Street was thick with the scent of dried lavender and the sharp, metallic tang of copper pennies. It was a smell that did not fade, a scent that clung to the hair and the skin, refusing to be scrubbed away by the dampness of the London fog that pressed against the high, arched windows. Elias Thorne stood in the center of the room, his hands...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded AtticMaren woke with the taste of iron on her tongue. It was a cold, metallic tang that coated her teeth and lingered in the back of her throat. She lay still in the narrow cot, staring at the stone ceiling. Dust motes danced in the single shaft of pale light that cut through the high, barred window. The air in the room was thick and stale. It smelled of damp wool and old paper. She had been...0 Comments 0 Shares 3 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful AshesThe heater coughs. It is a wet, rattling sound that shakes the dust from the ceiling beams. You do not look up. You are scrubbing the pot. The water is hot. It burns the tip of your thumb. You keep scrubbing. You live here now. The house is yours. Well, the house is what remains of the place you used to live before the air changed. Before the coughing started in the streets of London. Before...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale LetterThe rain hammers against the single-pane glass of the holding cell, a rhythmic, violent percussion that vibrates through the steel door and into your bones. You are sitting on a cold metal bench in a windowless room, the kind of space designed to erase identity, to reduce a person to a set of biometric data and a case number. The air is stale, recycled through vents that hum with a low,...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden DowntownThe bell above the door did not ring; it shrieked, a thin, metallic wail that cut through the humid air of the counting room, announcing the arrival of another body from the outside world. I looked up from the ledger, my quill still wet with the black ink that stained my thumb like a bruise, and watched as the man entered. He was not a customer. He was not a clerk. He was the absence of a...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek