0 Comments
0 Shares
0 Views
0 Reviews
Directory
Discover new ideas, create new connections and make new friends
-
Please log in to like, share and comment!
-
The Wistful SkylineThe iron gate of the Blackwood Foundry did not creak; it screamed. It was a high, thin shriek that tore through the stagnant air of the courtyard, announcing our arrival to the men who stood upon the ramparts. I gripped the hilt of my sword, the leather worn smooth by years of sweat and blood, and felt the familiar, cold weight of steel settle against my palm. Beside me, Elias walked with the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded ParadoxThe cellar was cold. Not the gentle chill of a winter evening, but a deep, marrow-seeping cold that seemed to emanate from the stone itself. Elias Thorne stood in the center of the room, his breath pluming before him in faint, ghostly ribbons. He was a large man, built of muscle and quiet discipline, a soldier who had seen the world’s edges and returned to a life of rigid routine. His uniform...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale MeridianThe bell tolled. It was not a sound but a weight, pressing against the inside of the skull. Elias stood in the center of the cobbles, his breath shallow. The city of Oakhaven was not a place of stone and mortar anymore. It was a lattice of veins, pulsing with a slow, arterial red. The sky above was the color of bruised slate. He looked at his hands. They were trembling. Not from cold. From the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful ThroneThe bell in the tower of St. Jude’s did not ring to call the faithful to prayer. It rang to summon the dead. You stood in the center of the stone hall, the air thick with the scent of damp moss and old blood. The year was 1342, or perhaps it was always 1342, for time had grown stagnant here, trapped behind the iron gates like a rat in a jar. You were not human. You were a Wisp, a fragment of...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded DustThe fluorescent lights in the municipal archives hummed with a frequency that seemed to vibrate directly in the marrow of my bones, a low, persistent drone that I had learned to ignore over the last three years of my tenure as the junior investigator for the Department of Urban Integrity, a department that existed on paper and in the minds of its staff but which the city at large had long since...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful CrossroadsThe rain did not fall. It hovered. A grey mist clung to the walls of the lighthouse. Thick. Wet. Alive. Elias sat on the floor. He held the coat. It was red. Bright. Screaming red. It belonged to no one. Or it belonged to everyone. The fabric was cold. Not cold like winter. Cold like death. Elias pulled it closer. The scent was of salt and iron. And something else. Something sweet. Rotting....0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded RootThe dream began, as it always did, with the texture of the floorboards beneath his feet, a rough, fibrous grit that seemed to seep through the soles of his standard-issue boots and into the marrow of his shins, a sensation so pervasive and all-consuming that it erased the memory of the sky and the sun, leaving only the endless, horizontal expanse of the office, a place where the air was not air...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant PromiseThe iron bell above the gate at Blackwood Asylum did not ring so much as it groaned, a sound like a man clearing his throat before delivering a death sentence. I stood on the wet cobblestones, the rain soaking through my greatcoat, clutching the brass astrolabe in my left hand. It was cold, heavy, and utterly still. The sky above the institute was a bruise of purple and grey, swollen with the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant AffairThe bell tower was silent. It had been silent for forty years. Thomas stood on the damp stone of the courtyard. His hands were thick with age and the residue of iron filings. He was a keeper. That was his title. Not a soldier, not a lord, but a keeper. He kept the gates. He kept the silence. He kept the memory of what the birds used to be. The wind off the river was cold. It bit through his...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek