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 Wistful CipherYou are standing in the center of the room. Your hands are shaking. The air is thin. It tastes of stale coffee and old paper. You are looking at the file. It is open. The paper is yellow. It is brittle. It feels like bone. You are the archivist. You are the keeper of secrets. You are also the thief. No one knows yet. Not the Director. Not the Board. Not Elias. You look at the clock. It is three...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded DustThe air in the bunker was thick, tasting of stale tobacco and wet stone. It was a smell that had seeped into your lungs so deeply that you could no longer distinguish the taste of your own breath from the atmosphere itself. You sat at the far end of the long, scarred oak table, your hands resting flat on the wood. The wood was cold. It always was. Above you, the concrete ceiling bore the weight...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale TaleThe hammer struck the anvil with a sound that was less like metal and more like the breaking of a bone, a sharp, wet crack that echoed through the vaulted stone ceiling of the forge where the air was so thick with sulfur and dust that breathing felt like swallowing hot ash, and Thomas Whitmore did not flinch, did not pause, but drove the wedge into the heated iron with a ferocity that bordered...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden FarceThe feast in the great hall of Blackwood Manor was a riot of tallow light and roasted goose, the air thick with the scent of spiced wine and the damp wool of men who had spent three days marching through the sleet. It was a night of celebration for the garrison, a reward for holding the pass against the encroaching fog that seemed to eat the world at the edges. But for Captain Elias Thorne, the...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded PhotographI dreamt of the glass. It was not a window pane, nor a mirror. It was a small, thick square of leaded crystal, yellowed at the edges like old teeth. In the dream, I held it up to the gaslight. The light bent through the clouded center. I could not see my own face. I could only see the dust. The dust settled in the grooves of the lead. It looked like snow. It looked like ash. I woke with the...0 Comments 0 Shares 5 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant ThresholdThe house was not merely a structure of timber and stone but a living, breathing entity that had swallowed the last of your father’s pride, a sprawling Victorian monstrosity on the edge of the moor where the fog rolled in like a tide of grey wool, smelling of wet dog and old pennies, and you stood in the center of the grand hall, surrounded by the gilded wreckage of a dinner party that had been...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden HarborThe rain hit the asphalt in sheets. Gray. Cold. Unending. Elias stood on the roof. His uniform was soaked. The fabric clung to his ribs. He watched the city below. Neon lights blurred in the water. Red. Blue. Yellow. The grid of streets. The hum of traffic. A distant siren. It sounded like a scream. Then it faded. Elias was a cop. Senior. Twenty years on the force. He had held the line. He had...0 Comments 0 Shares 4 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful PetalThe stamp is on your thumb. It is red. It is ink. It is dry. You look at it. You do not wipe it. You walk. The road is long. The road is gray. The road is cold. You are a soldier. You are an officer. You are alone. The sky is low. The sky is heavy. It presses down. It wants to crush you. You walk on. Your boots crunch. The gravel bites. The wind cuts. It finds the gaps. It finds the skin. You...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant GardenThe rain did not fall so much as it was applied, a thick, gray paste that clogged the pores of the stone and the breath of the living. I stood in the center of the Great Hall, my shield battered and dented, the wood splintered around the rim where the spectral arrows had found their mark. The air smelled of wet iron and old, stagnant air, a scent that clung to the back of the throat like a bad...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek