0 Comments
0 Shares
3 Views
0 Reviews
Directory
Discover new ideas, create new connections and make new friends
-
Please log in to like, share and comment!
-
The Wistful AtlasThe rain had not stopped for three days, a steady, grey curtain that blurred the edge of the city into a smear of charcoal and slate. It was the kind of weather that settled into the bones, a dampness that no fire could fully chase out, and it seemed to mirror the atmosphere of the precinct, where the air hung heavy with the scent of stale tobacco and unwashed wool. Thomas Bradshaw sat in his...0 Comments 0 Shares 3 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful AshesThe train did not merely travel; it crawled through the grey, rain-slicked arteries of the city, a metallic beast bound by the rigid, unyielding laws of a time that had long since ceased to feel like a gift and had instead calcified into a prison, a state of perpetual twilight where the sky above the industrial spires was the color of old bruises and the air tasted of copper and wet ash, and...0 Comments 0 Shares 15 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden CellarThe air in the basement laboratory of the Sterling & Co. Foundry did not smell of sulfur or rot, as the pamphlets distributed by the Civic Safety Board claimed, but of ozone, heated copper, and the sharp, metallic tang of electricity that had been stripped of its natural containment; I stood with my back pressed against the cold, riveted steel of the containment unit, feeling the vibration of...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded MasqueradeThe rain taps the glass. It is a steady, hollow sound. You stand in the center of the room. The house is old. The walls breathe. They shift in the dark. You are here because you must be. You are here because the debt is due. The house remembers. It knows your name. It knows your face. It has always known. You look at the mirror. It is tall. It is dark. The glass is cracked. A spiderweb of...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful GridThe heavy silver tureen had not been touched, its lid resting slightly askew to reveal a slow, hypnotic swirl of golden broth that seemed to pulse with a light entirely its own, a luminescence that defied the dim, gas-lit gloom of the Grand Hall where the elite of the city had gathered for the Annual Charity Gala, a night where the air was thick not merely with the scent of roasted pheasant and...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded FrontierThe boiler roared. It was a sound like a dying beast, a guttural, rhythmic thrum that shook the floorboards of the watchtower. Elias Thorne sat on the edge of the cot, his hands trembling. He held a tin of peaches. The label was peeling. The metal was cold. He opened it. The smell hit him. Sweet. Cloying. Artificial. "Close it," said Commander Hale. He stood by the window. The glass was fogged...0 Comments 0 Shares 3 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden CrossingThe rain had not stopped for three days, turning the cobblestones of the High Court’s forecourt into a mirror that reflected nothing but the grey, weeping sky and the heavy, wet wool of your coat. You stood at the edge of the reflection, watching your own face distort in the puddles, a smudge of ink on water. The coat was brown, once a deep, dignified umber, now faded to the color of dried mud,...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded GuestThe rain had not stopped for three days. It drummed against the slate roof of the manor, a relentless, hollow percussion. I stood in the center of the great hall, my hands raised. The air was thick with the scent of wet stone and old iron. I was not a man, though I wore the shape of one. I was a shadow given weight, a whisper given voice. In my palms, I held a shard of glass. It was blue, deep...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden MythThe rain had been falling on the slate roof of the infirmary for three days, a relentless, grey drumming that seemed to vibrate through the floorboards and into your bones. You sat in the corner of the administrative wing, a room that smelled of stale tea, damp wool, and the sharp, metallic tang of the antiseptic they used to scrub the floors. Your hands were resting on the mahogany desk,...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek