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 Distant ThresholdThe rain hit the pavement in a rhythm that felt like static. Margaret stood under the awning of a closed bakery, her coat soaked through to the skin. She watched a single leaf, brown and brittle, swirl across the wet asphalt. It spun. It stopped. It was gone. She had been walking for three hours. Her shoes were ruined. The water had seeped in, cold and biting. She did not care. The cold was a...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden MirrorThe ink on the file was still wet when Eleanor Vance sat in the dimly lit office of the Department of Cultural Heritage, the fluorescent lights humming a low, persistent note that seemed to vibrate directly against her temples. She was not a detective, not in the way the world understood the term, with badges and handcuffs and the sharp, metallic tang of adrenaline. She was an archivist, a...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded ShieldThe dream began with the smell of burnt sugar and the sound of a clock that had stopped ticking years ago. In the dream, the air was thick, suspended in a gray twilight that offered no shadows, only a pervasive, heavy dimness. Margaret stood in the center of a vast, empty hall, holding a spoon made of bone. It was warm to the touch, pulsing with a faint, rhythmic heat, like a small animal’s...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful CipherThe fog did not roll in. It stood up. It was a wall of grey wool, thick and wet, smelling of rot and old pennies. Thomas was seven. He stood at the edge of the moor, his boots sinking into the mud that sucked at his ankles like a mouth. He was looking for the line. Every child in the village knew about the line. It was a boundary. A path. The elders said it separated the living from the dead,...0 Comments 0 Shares 25 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant NightmareThe air in the archive room tasted of dust and dry rot, a dry, papery cloy that coated the back of your throat and settled deep in your lungs, and you stood there, gripping the edge of the steel table until your knuckles turned the color of old bone, while the supervisor’s voice echoed off the high, vaulted ceiling like the distant, hollow ringing of a struck bell that would not fade. You had...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale MeridianThe seal is cracked. You hold it in your palm. The gold is dull. The wax is cold. It smells of dust and old blood. You are in the vault. The air is thick. It presses against your chest. You cannot breathe. Thomas stands by the door. He is tall. His back is straight. He wears the gray uniform of the King’s Guard. His face is a mask. "Open it," he says. Your voice is a whisper. "It is broken."...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful SagaThe iron of your sword sings a high, thin note as it bites into the pommel of the man before you, a sound that cuts through the heavy, wet air of the forest like a scream held back. You are bleeding from a gash above your left eye, the blood hot and thick, running down your cheek to mix with the mud and the rain that has been falling for three days without cease. Your armor, once polished to a...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden HarborThe rain on the cobblestones of Whitmore Lane did not wash the city clean; it merely made the grime slicker, turning the soot into a black paste that clung to the boots of those who walked in haste. Elias Thorne stood at the threshold of the magistrate’s office, the heavy oak door swollen with the damp, and watched the crowd disperse. They were not cheering. They were not weeping. They were...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant MetropolisThe house was breathing, a slow, tidal expansion of timber and plaster that pressed against the skin of the room where we gathered, and I stood in the center of the drawing room, wearing a dress of deep indigo silk that felt less like fabric and more like a second, suffocating skin, tight around my ribs and cool against the sweat that had begun to prickle at my hairline, while my mother sat in...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek