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  • Beatrice Fairchild σε πρόσθεσε στο Literature
    2026-08-19 13:13:21 -
    The Wistful Incense
    The incense did not burn; it hovered. It was a single stick of pale, translucent resin, bound to the tip of a silver needle, suspended in the air above the stone hearth of the Abbey of Saint Jude. It emitted no smoke, only a low, thrumming vibration that one could feel in the teeth rather than hear. It was beautiful. It was wrong. Brother Thomas stood before it, his hands clasped so tightly...
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    Παρακαλούμε συνδέσου στην Κοινότητά μας για να δηλώσεις τι σου αρέσει, να σχολιάσεις και να μοιραστείς με τους φίλους σου!
  • Josephine Holloway σε πρόσθεσε στο Literature
    2026-08-19 13:13:02 -
    The Golden Greenhouse
    The glass did not shatter so much as it exhaled, a long, shuddering sigh of crystalline dust that coated the cobblestones of the district in a fine, glittering shroud, and in that moment of suspended particulate matter, I realized that the boundary between the inside of the conservatory and the outside of the world had not been breached but dissolved, leaving me standing in the center of a...
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    Παρακαλούμε συνδέσου στην Κοινότητά μας για να δηλώσεις τι σου αρέσει, να σχολιάσεις και να μοιραστείς με τους φίλους σου!
  • Julian Holloway σε πρόσθεσε στο Literature
    2026-08-19 13:13:32 -
    The Distant Journey
    The dream was not of war, but of tea. It was a thin, brown liquid in a chipped mug. The steam rose in tight spirals, smelling of iron and wet wool. Thomas Bradshaw sat at a table that had no legs. It floated in a grey void. Across from him sat a man who looked exactly like him, but older. The man in the dream did not speak. He just watched Thomas. He watched with a patience that felt heavy,...
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    Παρακαλούμε συνδέσου στην Κοινότητά μας για να δηλώσεις τι σου αρέσει, να σχολιάσεις και να μοιραστείς με τους φίλους σου!
  • Beatrice Merritt σε πρόσθεσε στο Literature
    2026-08-19 13:13:38 -
    The Golden Master
    The rain against the window of the small, dimly lit office in the old brick building on Mercer Street was not merely water but a persistent, rhythmic accusation, a hiss that seemed to question every word Thomas Bradshaw had ever spoken, every silence he had ever guarded with the ferocity of a man defending a fort against a siege that never quite arrived but was always, always just over the...
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    Παρακαλούμε συνδέσου στην Κοινότητά μας για να δηλώσεις τι σου αρέσει, να σχολιάσεις και να μοιραστείς με τους φίλους σου!
  • Vivian Ashcroft σε πρόσθεσε στο Literature
    2026-08-19 13:13:38 -
    The Faded Road
    The sky split open. It was not a metaphor. The air tore. A sound like tearing silk, but louder, heavier, ripped across the moor. Edward Ashworth looked up. He held the book tight. The book was leather. It was old. It was his life. The rain started. It was not water. It was ash. Fine gray dust fell on his face. It tasted of iron. He did not run. He walked. His boots sank into the mud. The mud...
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    Παρακαλούμε συνδέσου στην Κοινότητά μας για να δηλώσεις τι σου αρέσει, να σχολιάσεις και να μοιραστείς με τους φίλους σου!
  • Charlotte Fairchild σε πρόσθεσε στο Literature
    2026-08-19 13:13:48 -
    The Golden Greenhouse
    The rain against the glass was a persistent, rhythmic drumming, a sound you had known since before you could speak. You sat at the heavy oak table in the center of the room, your hands resting flat on the surface, fingers spread wide as if trying to anchor yourself to the wood grain. The house was old, older than you, older than your father, a sprawling Victorian thing of slate and ivy that...
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  • Thomas Winthrop σε πρόσθεσε στο Literature
    2026-08-19 13:13:33 -
    The Wistful Cipher
    The dream was always the same, a loop of gray static and the smell of wet concrete, where Margaret stood in the center of a city that did not exist, her hands pressed against a wall of fog that breathed against her palms. She woke to the ceiling of her apartment in Chicago, the rain ticking against the windowpane in a rhythm that felt less like weather and more like a metronome counting down to...
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  • Henry Ashworth σε πρόσθεσε στο Literature
    2026-08-19 13:12:36 -
    The Wistful Voyage
    The air in the control room tasted of ozone and stale coffee. It was a metallic tang that coated the back of Elias Thorne’s throat, a constant reminder of the high voltage that hummed through the walls. He sat at his station, the leather chair worn smooth by decades of use, his hands resting on the console. They were steady hands. They had been steady for forty years. The facility was a...
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  • Margaret Calloway σε πρόσθεσε στο Literature
    2026-08-19 13:12:39 -
    The Distant Garden
    The bell in the steeple did not ring. It screamed. A jagged, metallic shriek tore through the fog that had swallowed the city of Oakhaven, turning the grey morning into a bruised purple. Thomas Bradshaw felt the vibration in his teeth before he heard the sound. He was standing in the workshop, his hands still wrapped around the handle of the mallet. The strike had been meant to be soft. A...
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    Παρακαλούμε συνδέσου στην Κοινότητά μας για να δηλώσεις τι σου αρέσει, να σχολιάσεις και να μοιραστείς με τους φίλους σου!
  • Vivian Merritt σε πρόσθεσε στο Literature
    2026-08-19 13:13:47 -
    The Faded Chronicle
    The rain hit the glass. It did not splash. It smeared. I watched the droplets slide down the window of the patrol car. Each one a small, wet eye. We were parked outside the old bank. The lights flashed red. Blue. Red. Blue. My hands were on the wheel. They were shaking. Not from cold. The rain was warm. It was August. The air was thick. It pressed against the windows. I felt it on my skin....
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