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 Faded ShieldI woke with the taste of iron on my tongue and the sound of the wind screaming through the eaves of the inn. It was a cold night, the kind that settles into your bones and refuses to leave. I sat up in the straw bed, my head pounding, and looked at the man sleeping in the corner. He was young, perhaps twenty, with hair the color of wet ash and hands that were stained black up to the wrists. He...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden MazeThe road was mud. Thick, black, sucking at our boots. We walked. I walked. You walked. The air smelled of wet wool and woodsmoke. It was midday, but the sky was grey. A heavy, low ceiling of cloud. We carried nothing. We needed nothing. Only the path. Only the next step. "Keep up," you said. Your voice was low. Rough. Like gravel under a shoe. "I am keeping up," I said. I did not look at you. I...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful PetalYou leave the house on a Tuesday, the air thick with the smell of wet coal and iron. It is 1912, and the world is a machine of gears and smoke, grinding forward into a future you cannot see. You are a constable, a man of law and order, standing on the threshold of your own life, which has just begun to crumble. The house behind you is solid, a Victorian monolith of brick and slate that has...0 Comments 0 Shares 4 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden RitualThe feast was a riot of noise and grease. Candles guttered in the high windows of the Hall, casting long, trembling shadows across the stone floor. The air smelled of roasted boar and stale sweat. It was the Midwinter Solstice, the longest night, and the Lord’s table groaned under the weight of silver plates. Thomas sat at the foot of the table. He was a quiet man, his hands rough from the...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden MasterThe rain had not ceased for three days, a persistent, grey weeping that turned the highland moors into a mire of sucking clay and rotting heather, and in the small, stone-walled cottage that clung to the edge of the precipice, Elias Thorne sat by the dying fire, his hands wrapped around a mug of tea that had long since gone cold, watching the steam curl and dissipate into the damp air like a...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant WhispersThe rain fell on the village of Oakhaven not as water, but as a fine, gray mist that seemed to dissolve the very edges of the world, blurring the boundary between the cobblestones and the sky until everything was a single, weeping gray. It was the morning Margot left, a departure that had been whispered about for three weeks in the kitchens and the market squares, a secret that tasted of iron...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale LetterThe carriage wheels groaned against the cobblestones. Rain slicked the glass. Elara stood at the window. She held her breath. The city below was gray. It was a city of iron and steam. Smoke choked the sky. The palace loomed ahead. A beast of stone and glass. Elara’s heart beat fast. Thump. Thump. She was not human. Or perhaps she was. It did not matter. She was an anomaly. A mistake in the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded ApartmentYou begin in a dream where the air is thick with the scent of wet chalk and old paper, a smell that has haunted the corridors of the Department for years, long after the scandal broke and the files were burned, or so the public was led to believe. In this waking sleep, you are not a man but a thing of roots and bark, a towering oak standing in the center of a city square that does not exist,...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale ProtocolThe letter was dated October 14th. It was written in a cramped, slanted hand that trembled slightly at the edges of the page. The paper was thin, almost translucent, stained with a dark, irregular spot near the bottom right corner. My name is Thomas Ashworth. I am a corporal in the Royal Guard, attached to the Northern District. I am writing this because I am dying. Or perhaps I am already...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek