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 ShowThe rain had been falling for three days, a relentless gray curtain that turned the cobblestones of the market square into slick, black mirrors. Elara stood at the threshold of the old stone chapel, her hands wrapped tightly around the hilt of a sword that felt less like a weapon and more like a burden. She was a woman of forty winters, though the war had aged her into something resembling...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden HarborThe bread is burning. You smell it first. Acrid. Sweet. Rotting. It clings to the back of your throat like a hair you cannot spit out. You are in the kitchen. The tiles are white. Too white. They shine with a wet, cold light that has no source. The oven glows. A red eye. A heart exposed. You pull the loaf out. It is black. It is ash. It is you. Hold it. Do not drop it. Your hands are trembling....0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden EchoesThe banquet hall at the St. Jude’s Industrial Workers’ Hall smelled of roasted turkey, stale beer, and the heavy, metallic tang of industrial grease that clung to the walls like a second skin, a pervasive odor that seemed to seep into the very marrow of the bones of those who sat at the long, scarred oak tables where the factory men and their families gathered for the annual autumn celebration,...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant AffairThe rain did not fall; it hung, a suspended gray veil over the village of Oakhaven, thick enough to chew, heavy enough to sink the breath in one’s lungs. Elara stood at the edge of the black pond, her bare feet sinking into the cold silt, while the mud clung to her shins like the fingers of the dead. She was not afraid. Fear was a luxury for those who still believed in the sanctity of the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden CellarThe bell in the tower did not ring to warn of the storm. It rang to mark the hour of the breaking. You stood at the center of the Great Hall, the floorboards beneath your boots groaning under the weight of a silence so heavy it had texture, like wet clay. The air smelled of ozone and old iron. Above you, the vaulted ceiling was cracked, a jagged white line splitting the darkness from the stars....0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant ClueThe bell tower of St. Jude’s has stood over the village of Oakhaven for three centuries, its stone face etched with the weeping eyes of saints who watched over a world that no longer believed in their vigilance. You stand at its base, your boots sinking into the wet moss, feeling the cold seep through your wool trousers and into your bones, a chill that has nothing to do with the November wind....0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded GuestThe rain fell in thin, grey needles. It slicked the cobblestones of the old quarter, turning the night into a mirror of wet asphalt and broken glass. I stood on the corner, watching the drop of water hit the pavement. One. Two. Three. My boots were soaked. The leather had stiffened, cracking against my ankles. I was cold. The kind of cold that settles in the marrow. My name is Thomas. I was a...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden MythThe iron door groaned against the stone floor, a sound like a dying animal that I had come to associate with my own breath. I stood in the antechamber of the Bishop’s Keep, the air thick with the scent of wet wool and ancient dust, my hands trembling not from the cold but from the weight of the object hidden beneath my cloak. It was a chalice of hammered gold, its surface etched with scenes of...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden CircuitThe ink is black. It stains the vellum. It stains your hands. You scrub. The stain remains. You are in the scriptorium. The air is cold. It smells of dust. It smells of old paper. It smells of fear. You are Brother Thomas. You are the scribe. You are the scholar. You know the Latin. You know the Greek. You know the secrets. You write. The quill scratches. The sound is sharp. It cuts the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek