0 Comments
0 Shares
2 Views
0 Reviews
Directory
Discover new ideas, create new connections and make new friends
-
Please log in to like, share and comment!
-
The Golden CellarThe air in the cellar did not smell of earth or rot, but of stale coin and old blood. It was a scent that clung to the back of the throat, a metallic tang that no amount of breathing could scrub away. I stood in the center of the vault, the floor stones cold beneath my bare feet, listening to the silence that was not empty but heavy, a physical weight pressing against my eardrums. This was the...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful SagaThe flood did not come with a roar, but with a sigh, a low, wet exhalation that swallowed the bottom floor of the house before the sun had fully cleared the ridge of the hill. I stood on the second step of the porch, watching the brown water lick at the foundation stones, and I did not scream. I did not run. I simply looked at the lantern in my hand. It was an old thing, brass-rimmed and heavy,...0 Comments 0 Shares 6 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful Grid"You have to let it go, Arthur." The words hung in the air, thick and gray, smelling faintly of the damp wool that clung to her shoulders. Arthur stood by the window, his back rigid, staring out at the city that had swallowed itself whole. The rain lashed against the glass, a frantic, invisible drumming that seemed to vibrate in his teeth. He did not turn around. He could not turn around. If he...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant SummerThe ink did not dry. It bled. A black vein spreading across the white paper, a slow hemorrhage of identity. I held the document tight. My hands were steady. They had to be. I am a man of procedure. I am a man of the file. For twenty years, I have served the Bureau. I have worn the gray suit. I have signed the forms. I have watched the world shrink to the size of a desk lamp. The letter was from...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden RitualThe ink was blue. That was the first thing I noticed, and the last thing I would ever forget. It sat in the well of the fountain pen, a dark, viscous pool that seemed to swallow the light of my office. I held the pen. My hand trembled, not from fear, but from a strange, light-headedness that felt like standing on the edge of a high roof. I was a clerk. I was no one. Yet I held the instrument of...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful GridThe letters are gone. Or rather, they are not gone. They are here. In the box. In the closet. In the air. You can feel the weight of the paper. The smell of the ink. It is a thick smell. Like iron. Like blood. Like old rain on hot stone. You are sitting in the chair. The wood is cold. Your hands are shaking. Not from the cold. From the knowing. Margaret is sleeping. She sleeps so deeply. Her...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant PromiseThe blade was short. It was a masterwork of steel, folded nine hundred times until the grain was like water in a frozen river. It belonged to Sir Aldric, the King’s Right Hand, and it was buried to the hilt in the ribcage of a man who had no name. The castle was a throat of stone. It swallowed the light. The walls were wet with condensation and the breath of the dead. Aldric pulled the sword...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded DustYou are standing in the center of the valley of Ashenmoor, a place that exists in the fold between the waking world and the deep, dreaming dark, where the air tastes of iron and old rain and the silence is so profound it has weight, pressing against your eardrums like the deep ocean. It is a time long past, before the iron roads were laid, when the mist rose from the ground like the breath of...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful DinnerThe porcelain bowl sat in the center of the conference table, a perfect circle of white glaze that seemed to absorb the harsh fluorescent hum of the open-plan office. It was a vessel of impossible fragility, a relic of a domesticity I had long since abandoned in favor of spreadsheets and quarterly projections, yet it remained, intact and silent, a monument to the trust I had misplaced. I held...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek