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 MeridianThe house burned. Not with a roar, but with a sigh. You watched the smoke curl from the gable, thin and grey, against the white sky. It was a Tuesday. You remember that because the milkman had just left. His van idled at the end of the drive, engine ticking in the cold. You stood on the porch. You held a glass of water. Your hand did not shake. That was the first thing that was wrong. You were...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant MetropolisThe sky above the Appalachian ridge did not break; it dissolved, a bruised purple hem bleeding into the twilight as the first tremor of the storm hit the hollow, shaking the dust from the eaves of the abandoned farmhouse where Elias Vance sat with his back against the rotting oak door, his rifle resting across his knees like a sleeping dog. He was not a soldier in the traditional sense, not...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant GardenThe letter sits on your desk, the paper yellowed and brittle as a dried leaf, the ink faded to a ghostly brown. You are alone in the archive, the air thick with the scent of dust and decaying glue. Outside, the rain hammers against the high, narrow windows of the county records office, a relentless drumming that seems to vibrate in your teeth. You are forty-two years old. You have been here for...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant AffairThe cake was three feet high. It was a monolith of vanilla sponge and buttercream, standing on a pedestal in the center of the community hall. It looked like a wedding cake for a bride who had died young. Or a tombstone. You stood by the table, adjusting your apron. Your hands were trembling. Not from cold. The air was thick, humid with the scent of frying dough and stale coffee. It was the...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale MistThe iron pommel of the halberd has worn smooth under my palm, a circle of polished stone that mirrors the dull gray of the morning sky. It is not merely a weapon, for in the service of the Crown, it has become an extension of my own flesh, a second hand that knows the weight of the world before my fingers do. I stand in the courtyard of the keep, the air thick with the smell of wet stone and...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden CircuitThe rain had been falling for three days without pause, a heavy, gray curtain that turned the cobblestones of the old fort into slick, black mirrors, and I sat in the corner of the command tent, watching the water drip from the canvas in a steady, rhythmic platter that sounded like the ticking of a clock counting down to a moment I had spent my entire life trying to outrun. My name is Elias...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant WhispersThe dream was not of flight, as it often was for Elara, but of weight, a heavy, suffocating blanket of wool that smelled of lanolin and old dust, pressing down until her lungs could no longer expand, until she woke with a gasp that sounded like a dry leaf tearing in the wind. The room was dim, the gray light of the industrial dawn filtering through the grimy windowpanes that looked out onto the...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant ClueThe road to the manor is not a path but a wound in the earth, a long, ragged tear of red clay that stretches endlessly beneath the gray, leaden sky, and you walk it with your small feet aching in a rhythm that feels less like walking and more like the slow, deliberate sinking of a stone into deep water, carrying in your thin hands the heavy, broken thing that has been the center of your...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant BladeThe rain had been falling for three days when Sir Elias Thorne decided to leave. It was a cold, gray drizzle that seeped through the wool of his cloak and settled into the marrow of his bones, a constant, damp whisper against the silence of the manor house. He stood before the tall, arched window in the great hall, watching the mist swallow the distant hills where the village of Oakhaven lay....0 Comments 0 Shares 4 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek