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 Distant BladeThe frost bit deep into the stone. I stood by the window. The glass was cold. My breath fogged it. I wiped the spot away. The courtyard lay white and silent. The bells had stopped. The day was over. Or perhaps it had only begun. I did not know. The years blur together in this place. Time is a river without a bank. It flows and flows. I am a seeker of shadows. That is my title. My role. I am not...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded MasqueradeYou stand in the shadow of the iron gates, the breath held tight in your lungs like a secret too heavy to speak. The year is 1912, and the air tastes of coal dust and wet wool. You are Sergeant Elias Thorne, a man carved from the same rigid stone as the city’s spires. Your uniform is pressed to a mirror finish, the brass buttons catching the dim gaslight with a cold, predatory gleam. You have...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful CampusThe gate was iron. Rust bled down its face like old wounds. I stood before it. The air smelled of wet stone and rot. My boots were heavy. Mud clung to the soles. I had walked for three days. My legs burned. My mind was quiet. Too quiet. The silence was a weapon. It cut deep. I was a soldier. I wore the uniform of the Crown. But I was no one now. Just flesh. Just bone. Just breath. The castle...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful MirrorThe mud on the left boot of Captain Elias Thorne was not merely dirt, it was a thick, cloying paste of earth and decay that had seeped into the stitching of his leather until the material itself seemed to groan under the weight of the journey, a weight that matched the crushing, silent pressure of the iron medal he had kept hidden inside his breast pocket for the last three weeks, a cold, heavy...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded RootThe rain had not ceased for three days, turning the world outside the window of the detention center into a grey, weeping smear that blurred the distinction between the earth and the sky. I sat at the steel table, my hands resting flat against its cold, unyielding surface, feeling the vibration of the fluorescent lights hum through my bones. The room was small, a concrete box suspended in a...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant TempleThe rain on the carriage window was a static hiss, a white noise that swallowed the sound of the wheels on the gravel. You sat in the back, your coat buttoned to the throat, watching the fields of gray turnip and wet earth scroll past in a blur. You were not a man given to sentiment, nor to the poetic musings of the poets who lived in the city. You were an auditor, a seeker of discrepancies, a...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded BouquetThe air in the town hall smelled of damp wool and stale coffee, a cloying scent that seemed to hang in the rafters like a shroud. We were gathered in the grand, echoing chamber for the annual review of the university’s community engagement initiative, a bureaucratic ritual that had long since lost its meaning. I sat near the back, my hands folded in my lap, watching the dust motes dance in the...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful VoyageThe rain had been falling for three days, a relentless, grey curtain that turned the world into a blur of wet slate and bruised sky. Inside the grand, decaying manor of the Holloway estate, the air was thick with the scent of damp wool, old paper, and the faint, metallic tang of rust. Colonel Arthur Penhallow sat in the high-backed leather chair by the fireplace, his posture rigid as a plumb...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale TaleThe ale was thick and dark as blood, pooling in the clay cups of the men who sat around the long oak table, their faces illuminated by the sputtering tallow candles that cast long, dancing shadows against the stone walls of the hall. I stood apart from the revelry, my hand resting on the hilt of my sword, the cold iron biting into my palm, a constant reminder of the weight I carried, the weight...0 Comments 0 Shares 25 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek