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 MountainThe storm did not arrive as a weather event, but as a physical invasion, a crushing weight that settled upon the roof of the house and the bones of my mother, Margaret, who lay in the center of the room, her body a map of the tremors that had been consuming her for three years, while I, Elara, stood by the window, watching the rain lash against the glass with a ferocity that seemed personal, as...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded DustYou are the stone in the mortar of the city, and you do not move. The dream is not a dream but a waking that has forgotten how to blink. You stand in the center of the square, where the cobblestones are black with the grime of centuries, and the air tastes of wet wool and old iron. You are wearing the coat of the Watch, the heavy wool that chafes against your neck, the brass buttons cold...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden MythThe jar sits on the steel counter. It is heavy. The glass is thick. Inside, the liquid pulses. It is amber. It is warm. You feel the heat through the thick wall of the glass. Your fingers tremble. You are a junior analyst. You work in the basement of St. Jude’s Medical Center. The walls are white. The lights hum. The air smells of bleach and old copper. You have been here for three days. You...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful SilenceThe riot shield cracked down on the pavement with a sound like a bone snapping, a sharp, definitive fracture that echoed off the wet brick of the station lobby, and Sergeant Elias Thorne stood in the center of the chaos, his visor fogged with his own breath, watching the world distort through the plastic curve of his faceplate. He was a man who had spent twenty years learning how to be a wall,...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden SuspectThe moth died on the ceiling. It hung there, a tattered wing of gray lace, caught in the fluorescent hum. I watched it. The light buzzed. The office smelled of stale coffee and ozone. My name was Elias Thorne. I worked in claims. I was not a man. I was a function. A shadow cast by a larger shape. The moth twitched. Once. Then stillness. I looked away. The papers on my desk waited. Paper was...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale PathThe train hissed to a halt in the grey morning, the sound a sharp, metallic exhalation that seemed to cut through the damp air of the station like a blade through wet cloth. Elias Thorne stepped off the carriage, his boots striking the platform with a finality that felt less like arrival and more like a sentence being read aloud, his uniform a shadow against the pale, indifferent sky. He...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded FrontierThe ink on the ledger did not dry. It shimmered, a wet, black pulse that seemed to breathe against the grain of the oak table. Arthur Penhaligon, a man whose intellect had long since outpaced his ability to live, stared at the entry for the grain silo. The number was wrong. It was not a calculation error, nor a slip of the pen. The digits shifted under his gaze, rearranging themselves into a...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale ShadowsThe dream began, as it always did, in the silence of the high gallery. Elara stood before the tapestry, her fingers hovering inches from the wool and silk, feeling the static charge of the ancient threads even though she was not touching them. The room was cold, a vaulted space of stone and shadow where the air tasted of dust and dried lavender. It was the Hall of Whispers, a place in the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale ExileThe bread was hard. It tasted of chalk and old dust. Elias wiped his mouth with a sleeve that had seen better days. He sat on the cold stone of the chapel steps. The rain had stopped. The air smelled of wet earth and decay. He looked at the loaf in his hand. It was not much. A heel. A scrap. But it was food. Father Thomas came down the steps. His robes were black. His face was pale. He stopped....0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek