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 Pale MistThe rain did not fall so much as it hung in the air, a suspended gray mist that swallowed the town of Oakhaven whole. Elias Thorne stood at the edge of the reservoir, his hands trembling not from the cold, but from the sheer, crushing weight of the silence that had settled over his life. He was a man of equations, a structural engineer who had spent thirty years calculating the tensile strength...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded AlibiThe rain did not fall; it assaulted. It hammered against the slate roof of the workshop with a rhythmic, violent persistence that sounded like the ticking of a clock unwinding. Inside, the air was thick with the smell of linseed oil and old dust, a scent that had seeped into the pores of the wood and the skin of the man who sat at the center of it all. He was not an old man, not by the years,...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale ExileThe rain had not stopped for three days. It drummed a relentless, hollow rhythm against the high, arched windows of the Blackkeep, a sound that seemed to seep through the stone and into the marrow. I sat at the head of the long oak table, the wood worn smooth by centuries of hands that had once sworn oaths of loyalty to a crown that no longer existed. My armor lay in the corner, polished to a...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden CrossingThe rain hits the glass like a hail of small, cold stones. You are standing in the lobby of the Grand Hotel, but it is not the Grand Hotel you remember. The carpet is not red. It is black. It is wet. The air smells of ozone and old paper. You are holding a key. It is brass. It is cold. Your hand is shaking. You do not know why. You do not know who you are, exactly. You know your name is Elias....0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded AtticThe feast was not of food. It was of ink. The scriptorium hummed. A low, constant vibration that settled in the teeth. It was the sound of three hundred quills scratching against vellum. It was the sound of the House of Records breathing. Arthur Penhaligon sat at the center of the long oak table. He was the Auditor. His job was simple. To check the seals. To verify the dates. To ensure that the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden CrossingThe frost bit deep into the earth. I left. The gates of the Abbey closed behind me with a groan of ancient wood. No one watched. No one cared. The snow fell in heavy, white veils. It covered the road. It covered my sins. I walked. My boots crunched. The sound was sharp. It was the only sound. The world was silent. The world was dead. I carried the stone. It was warm. It burned against my chest....0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden ScarThe bell rang. It was a harsh sound. It cut the air. You stopped. Your hands trembled. You looked at the floor. The dust motes danced. They did not care. You cared. "Come in." The voice was low. It was smooth. It was like oil. You pushed the door open. The wood creaked. The room was large. It was cold. The walls were white. The light was thin. You felt small. You felt watched. Lord Alistair sat...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful GridThe rain fell in sheets against the glass. Mara pressed her forehead to the cold pane. She was still. The city outside was a blur of grey and wet stone. It was an ancient city, older than memory. The streets were narrow. The air smelled of damp wool and iron. Mara watched the drop slide down. One line. Then another. She did not blink. She was the grid. The grid was her. Her husband, Elias,...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden ScarThe watchtower was cold. Not the biting, wind-chipped cold of a winter in the lowlands, but a deep, structural chill that seemed to rise from the stone floor itself. It sat at the edge of the world, a solitary square of concrete suspended over a mist that did not move. It never moved. It was a white sea, flat and silent, stretching out into the gray void. Arthur Vance stood by the narrow...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek