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 CrossroadsThe mud is cold. It sucks at your boots with a wet, greedy sound. You are in the trench. The rain falls like a curse. It soaks your wool. It seeps into your bones. Your hands shake. They are not your hands. They are stiff. They are red. They look like old meat. You grip the spear. The wood is slick. Your fingers slide. You hold tighter. Your knuckles whiten. They crack. You feel the pain. It is...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful AshesThe rain in Oakhaven did not wash things clean; it merely made the grime slicker, turning the cobblestones into a treacherous mirror of the grey sky above. Elias Thorne stood at the edge of the central square, his hand resting not on a sword, for such weapons had been obsolete for three generations, but on the hilt of a ceremonial staff that had once belonged to his father. It was an oak staff,...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful SkylineThe bread was hard. That was the first thing Elias noticed, though he did not say so. He stood in the kitchen, his fingers wrapped around the crusty loaf, feeling the dryness of the grain against his skin. Outside, the wind rattled the windowpanes of the old manor, a sound like bones clicking in the dark. The house had been theirs for three generations, but lately it felt less like a home and...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant LegendThe cold in the keep did not sit upon the skin like a guest but burrowed into the marrow, a persistent, grinding ache that seemed to originate not from the stone walls but from the very center of my being, a hollow space where warmth had once lived and now only the memory of its absence remained. I sat in the corner of the great hall, the draft finding every crack in the masonry, and held the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded ShieldThe rain in Ashford did not wash things clean; it merely made the grime slicker, turning the cobblestones of the industrial quarter into mirrors that reflected the soot-stained faces of those who passed. Inspector Elias Thorne stood under the awning of the closed foundry, his trench coat dark and heavy with the damp, the brass buttons tarnished by years of service and neglect. He was a man...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful MirrorThe iron gates of the Keep at Ashenmoor groaned not with the wind, but with the sheer, oppressive weight of the history that had calcified within their stone throats. Outside, the world was a blur of mud and smoke, a chaotic smear of violence that had bled into the twilight, but inside, the air was still, thick with the scent of old parchment and the metallic tang of fear. Elias Vane stood at...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden MirrorThe fog did not rise from the river at Ashwick; it sank, like a heavy grey shroud pulled down from the rafters of the world, settling into the cobblestones and the wet roots of the ancient yew trees that lined the High Street. It was the kind of silence that had weight, a physical pressure against the eardrums, pressing the sound of the bells from St. Jude’s down until they were nothing more...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale MeridianThe rain taps against the stone. It is a steady, rhythmic sound. You sit in the corner. Your back is against the cold wall. The room is small. It smells of damp wool and old blood. You are waiting. You do not know for how long. Hours have passed. Or perhaps days. Time is thick here. It pools in the corners. It seeps into the stone. A door opens. Light spills in. It is white. It is sharp. A man...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded BouquetThe house breathed. I felt it in the floorboards, a slow, rhythmic heave beneath my bare feet. It was an old house. Older than the village. Older than the king who had ordered its stones laid in the gray dawn. I was a scholar of its decay. My tenure depended on it. My survival depended on the grant, and the grant depended on the house. I had forgotten my name. I remembered only the dust. I...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek