0 Comments
0 Shares
1 Views
0 Reviews
Directory
Discover new ideas, create new connections and make new friends
-
Please log in to like, share and comment!
-
The Distant ThresholdThe sword sang. A thin, high note. It cut the air. Then it hit bone. Maren gasped. She pushed the blade away. Not hard. Just enough. The man fell. He scrambled back. His face was pale. White as chalk. "Stay back," he whispered. He was the King’s Guard. I knew that. He wore the blue cloak. The crest was a lion. The lion was gold. It was tarnished now. Maren did not attack. She stood still. Her...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale LetterThe air in the basement office was thick with the scent of damp wool and old paper. It smelled like a grave that had not yet been dug. Elias sat at his desk, the wood cold against his forearms. He was a man of forty, with shoulders that had begun to slump under the weight of years spent counting other people’s debts. His hands were pale, the veins standing out like roots in dry earth. He looked...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale FractureThe dream is not a dark thing but a bright, terrible white, a blinding sheet of light that erases the shadows from the corners of the room and leaves you floating in a void where the air tastes of iron and old pennies. You are standing in the garden of your childhood home, the one in the industrial district of Ashworth, where the smoke from the factories used to hang low over the rooftops like...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale VerdictThe gavel strikes. Your hand trembles. Not from fear. From the cold. The air in the Grand Hall is thin. It tastes of iron and old dust. You are Margaret. You are a scholar. You have spent thirty years bending over manuscripts. You have spent thirty years decoding the silence of the dead. But today, the dead are speaking for you. And they are saying you are guilty. You stand before the High...0 Comments 0 Shares 4 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden RitualThe bonfire in the valley of Ash Creek was not a campfire, nor was it a signal. It was a mouth, wide and roaring, swallowing the dry heather and the bones of the dead winter. The air tasted of sulfur and old iron, a metallic tang that coated the back of Sergeant Elias Thorne’s throat. He stood at the edge of the clearing, his boots sinking into the blackened earth, watching the flames lick at...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful MountainThe coat was blue. Not the deep, somber navy of the office, but a bright, screaming azure that seemed to vibrate against the gray wool of the room. It hung on the back of a chair, a single, defiant splash of color in the sterile, fluorescent purgatory of the disciplinary hearing. "It’s a statement," Gerald said. He didn’t look at the committee. He looked at the coat. "It’s just a coat." The...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale AltarThe fog rolls in off the sea, thick and grey, smelling of brine and old paper, and you wake up standing in a room that has no windows, only a single door painted the color of dried blood, and in your hands you hold a chisel that feels warm, almost alive, as if it were carved from the bone of a sleeping giant. You are a carpenter, or at least you were, before the war took your hands and gave...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant GhostThe road ahead of you is not a road at all but a vast, shifting expanse of grey mist that swallows the horizon and erases the very concept of distance, and you walk through it with the heavy, rhythmic thud of boots that seem to belong to a soldier who has been dead for decades, though your heart beats with the frantic, primal urgency of a man who has just remembered that he is alive, and the...0 Comments 0 Shares 4 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded ParadoxThe soup was thick. It sat in the iron pot, bubbling gently over the coal stove, smelling of onions and old time. Elias stirred it with a wooden spoon. The wood was smooth, worn by years of his hands. He looked at the steam rising. It twisted into shapes that did not hold. He was a cook. Or he thought he was. The sign above the door said *Elias’ Kitchen*. But Elias remembered being a man who...0 Comments 0 Shares 5 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek