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 Golden MazeThe rain fell upon the high ramparts of the Citadel of Aethelgard not as water, but as a slow, gray weeping, blurring the line between the stone and the sky. Sir Elias Thorne stood at the edge of the parapet, his gauntlets resting on the wet moss that clung to the ancient masonry. He was a man of iron and silence, a creature of duty whose face had long since forgotten the softness of sleep....0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded ParadoxThe pills were blue. They were not medicine, not exactly. They were memory. I kept them in a tin box on the counter. The lid was dented, the paint chipped to reveal the silver skin beneath. I polished it every morning. My fingers knew the shape of the dent. It was a scar I wore on the outside. The shop was dark. The rain tapped against the glass like fingers asking for entry. I did not answer....0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful VoyageThe rain did not fall so much as it accumulated, a heavy, grey static that pressed against the leaded windows of the High Court until the glass groaned under the weight of the sky. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of wet wool, old paper, and the metallic tang of ozone that had begun to bleed through the walls. It was a Tuesday, or perhaps a Wednesday; the calendar had lost its meaning...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded ShieldThe rain hammered against the slate roof of the community hall, a relentless, drumming applause for the feast we had just ended. Inside, the air was thick with the smell of roasting venison and stale beer, the heavy scent of wet wool coats piled in the corner. We were still there, the old guard of Millhaven, sitting in the long rows of wooden chairs, our knees touching, our voices low and rough...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded ApartmentThe iron of my sword bit deep into the wet, rotting earth, anchoring me against the crushing weight of the air, which tasted of copper and ancient, stagnant honey, as the shadow that wore my own face lunged forward with a violence that was not quite human but possessed a terrible, rhythmic precision, and I found myself not fighting the man I had become, but the ghost of the man I had been, a...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful DinnerThe crate hit the floor. It broke. Glass shards scattered. Orange juice ran across the linoleum. I stood still. My hands were empty. The liquid pooled. It smelled like citrus and dirt. It was the only thing in the room that moved. I am a corrections officer. I wear the uniform. I carry the baton. I hold the line. My name is on the badge. It is also on the file. The file is thick. It is full of...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant CartographThe ink was still wet. It smelled of iron and rot. I held the map in my hands, the parchment trembling not from cold, but from the weight of what it contained. It was a chart of the world as it had been, not as it was. Or perhaps, it was a chart of the world as it would be, if we had not failed. I do not know. Time here does not move in lines. It pools. It stagnates. Like blood in a wound that...0 Comments 0 Shares 9 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful CipherThe rain did not fall on the city. It hovered. It hung in the air like a gray mist, thick and wet, clinging to the wool coats of the clerks in the Department of Records. Thomas Bradshaw sat at his desk. His hands were shaking. He looked at his left index finger. The tip was gone. Not cut. Not bitten. It had simply worn away. The skin was raw. The bone was white. It looked like a tooth pulled...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant ClueThe air in the vault was not merely stale; it was ancient, a suspended breath held by the stone walls for centuries, thick with the scent of damp earth and the metallic tang of forgotten iron. Elias Thorne stood in the center of the chamber, his boots sinking slightly into the fine, grey dust that covered the floor like a shroud. He was a man carved from the same austerity as the room, his face...0 Comments 0 Shares 3 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek