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 VerdictThe rain had not stopped for three days, a persistent, gray weeping that turned the gravel path of the St. Jude’s Orphanage into a river of mud and sludge. I stood at the iron gate, my fingers white-knuckled around the handle, watching the steam rise from the vents of the old boiler house, a ghostly column in the cold morning air. Inside, the building loomed, a heavy, brick beast of the...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant PromiseThe rain had not stopped for three days, turning the cobblestones of Oakhaven into a slick, black mirror that reflected the jagged spires of the Abbey. Thomas Whitmore stood at the edge of the courtyard, his heavy cloak dripping onto the flagstones. He was old, his face a map of deep furrows carved by wind and worry, but his eyes, pale and sharp as flint, held a clarity that belied his years....0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful AsylumThe bell in the tower of St. Jude’s Academy did not ring to summon the faithful, as it had for three hundred years, but to warn them of a hunger that had begun to gnaw at the very stones of the chapel, a creeping, spectral appetite that no amount of bread or wine could sate, and Father Elias, the young archivist who had spent his life in the dust of manuscripts, found himself standing at the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful CipherThe train into Ashwood Station had been late, a fact that seemed to hang in the heavy, humid air like a suspended breath, and Elias Thorne stood on the platform with his suitcase, a battered leather thing that had traveled further than he had, watching the mist curl around the feet of the other passengers who were disembarking with the weary, deliberate slowness of people who knew that the...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden ScarThe scar was gold. It ran from her left temple to her jaw, a thin, bright line that caught the light in the stone halls of the High Court. It did not hurt. It hummed. A low, constant vibration, like a plucked string in an empty room. Eleanor Ashworth touched it. Her fingers were cold. The air in the chamber was thick with the smell of old wax and ozone. She stood before the High Arbiter. He sat...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful AtlasThe morning air in the village of Oakhaven tastes of iron and wet earth, a metallic tang that coats your tongue and settles deep in the lungs, a sensation you have come to know as intimately as the grain of your own skin, for here the boundary between the self and the surrounding world has long since dissolved into a permeable membrane where the sickness of the land flows directly into the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant GhostThe first tremor began not in the earth, but in the glass of my spectacles, a fine, spider-webbing fracture that split the view of the corridor into two disjointed halves, and I realized then, with a clarity that felt almost surgical, that the integrity of my own vision was as fragile as the institution that housed me. I am an archivist, a keeper of the paper dust and the silent histories of...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant MetropolisThe rain had been falling for three days, a gray, relentless curtain that turned the cobblestones of the dockside into slick, dark mirrors. I stood in the corner of the station master’s office, my boots caked in the same mud that coated the hulls of the steamers outside. The air inside was thick with the smell of wet wool, stale tobacco, and the sharp, metallic tang of fear. It was a smell I...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful AtlasThe air in the foundry was not merely hot; it was a physical weight, a dense, sulfurous fog that pressed against the eardrums and coated the tongue with the taste of copper and old blood. Elias Thorne stood at the center of the great crucible, his arms raised in a gesture that was less a command and more a plea, his hands open to the sky as if expecting rain. He was shouting, though the words...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek