0 Comments
0 Shares
6 Views
0 Reviews
Directory
Discover new ideas, create new connections and make new friends
-
Please log in to like, share and comment!
-
The Golden CrossingThe dream was a river of molten gold. It did not flow; it hung suspended in the air, a thick, viscous ribbon of light that smelled of ozone and burnt sugar. Edward Ashworth stood in the center of the stream. He was not cold. He was not afraid. He was one with the metal. The gold wrapped around his ankles, his knees, his waist, climbing up his chest like a living thing. It was beautiful. It was...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded ShieldThe rain did not fall so much as it was thrown, a relentless, icy slurry that battered the reinforced glass of the observation deck where Elias Thorne stood, his reflection a ghostly smear of grey suit and tired eyes against the darkening skyline of the city, a city that had forgotten the sky for so long it no longer remembered how to look up, yet here it was, pressing its wet, heavy face...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful AtlasThe rain had stopped, but the air still tasted of wet asphalt and rust. I sat in the back of the county bus, my back pressed against the cold metal, watching the gray blur of the highway unspool through the window. My hands were tucked into the pockets of my coat, fingers curled tight against the lining. I was waiting for the stop. I was waiting for the life that was supposed to be there, the...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful CrossroadsThe ink on the parchment was still wet, glistening like a fresh wound in the dim light of the scriptorium. You held the quill, your hand steady despite the tremor that had taken up residence in your bones three days ago. The air smelled of oak gall, dried blood, and the stale, heavy incense that clung to the velvet curtains of the high court. Outside, the rain lashed against the leaded glass, a...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant MachineThe rain has not ceased for three days, a relentless, grey curtain that blurs the distinction between the ancient stone of the manor and the muddy earth below, and you find yourself staring at the cracks in the ceiling plaster, watching the moisture seep into the lime with the slow, inevitable patience of a disease that knows it will eventually claim the host. You are a scholar of the old...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded RoadThe brass astrolabe sat upon the polished oak desk, its intricate lattice of metal rings catching the pale, grey light that filtered through the high, arched windows of the Chancery, a silent testament to the precision of celestial mechanics that had long since ceased to govern the daily rhythms of the court, yet which remained, in the rigid hierarchy of the Palace, the ultimate arbiter of...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant ThresholdThe train leaves at dawn. You know this because you have checked the schedule forty times. The paper is soft, worn at the edges, smelling of old coffee and diesel. You are in the station, sitting on a bench that is cold against your thighs. The air is thick with the scent of wet wool and fear. You are leaving. There is a woman next to you. She is older, perhaps sixty, with hands that look like...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale MeridianThe frost had not yet melted on the window glass. It sat there in jagged, white fractures, a map of cold veins against the dark. I stared at it. The ice looked like shattered bone. My breath fogged the pane, then vanished. The air in the room was still. Too still. It held its weight against my chest. I am Sergeant Elias Thorne. I have served this institution for twenty years. I have held the...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful SilenceJames Whitmore left Merrowgate on the last night of March, in the year the willows came early. I stood with him on the ferry, holding the rope, and told him I would not be coming. That was the parting. He had asked me, begged me in his way, to cross the river with him and walk on to the station at Barrow Hill, where the night train would carry him to the city. "Come with me, Tom," he said....0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek