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 Faded GuestThe brickwork of the old textile mill groaned under the weight of the snow, a sound like a man clearing his throat before a long, difficult confession. I stood in the center of the loom hall, the air thick with the scent of wet wool and rust, my uniform hanging heavy on my shoulders as if it were made of lead. It was 1912, and the mill had been silent for three days, yet the silence felt louder...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale DanceThe frost on the windowpane of the carriage was not merely ice but a living, shifting membrane, a pale, translucent skin that breathed with the rhythmic chugging of the locomotive beneath your feet, and as you pressed your forehead against the cold glass, watching the English countryside dissolve into a blur of gray and white, you felt the weight of your mother’s silence pressing against the...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale BridgeThe bell rang at dusk. It was a low, bronze sound that vibrated in the marrow of my bones. I stood in the courtyard. The stone was wet. Rain had fallen. It had stopped. The air tasted of iron and old leaves. I was the Warden. I wore the black coat. It was heavy. It clung to me. I carried the sword. It was my duty. It was my life. The gate was open. A figure stood there. He was young. He held a...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded QuadrantThe banquet hall of the Sterling-Whitmore estate did not smell of food, but of old varnish and the faint, sweet decay of lilies that had been left too long in crystal vases. It was a room suspended in a timeless amber, where the light from the chandelier seemed less like illumination and more like a physical weight pressing down on the shoulders of the guests. Margaret stood near the edge of...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden CrossingThe iron key was not a key at all, but a seed of black glass that had grown into the shape of a mechanism. Elias held it in his palm, the metal cold and smooth as a river stone, and watched the rain tap against the high, vaulted windows of the cell. He was a prisoner of the Hollow, a vast, subterranean cathedral that existed somewhere between the floorboards of a Victorian manor and the bedrock...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden CircuitThe rain had been falling for three days, a thin, relentless mist that turned the air in the courtyard into a heavy, wet wool, and I stood alone in the center of the stone yard, watching the golden leaf of the old oak tree, which had been there since before the castle was built, curl and blacken at its edges, its veins turning from a vibrant, life-giving amber to a brittle, dusty brown, as if...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful ThroneThe rain had not stopped for three days, a relentless, grey curtain that blurred the boundaries between the stone walls of the Citadel and the churning earth below, and as I stood at the window of the high tower, watching the mist swallow the spires of the lower city, I felt the familiar, cold weight of my duty pressing against the back of my neck. My name is Elias Thorne, and I am the last of...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale BannerThe rain had not stopped for three days, turning the cobblestones of the courtyard into a slick, dark mirror that reflected the grey, indifferent sky. Inside the stone keep, the air was thick with the smell of wet wool, stale candle wax, and the metallic tang of fear. Elias Thorne stood by the heavy oak door, his hand resting on the pommel of his sword, though he had not drawn it in weeks. He...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful IncenseThe alarm bells did not ring with the shrill, mechanical panic that one might expect from a fire, but with a low, resonant hum that seemed to vibrate directly against the sternum of every person standing in the central atrium of the Bureau of Ethical Compliance. It was a sound that felt less like an alert and more like a diagnosis, a final confirmation of a disease that had been incubating in...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek