Co-Scribe Co-Scribe
Risultati di ricerca
Mostra tutti i risultati
  • Iscriviti
    Registrati
    Iscriviti
    Cerca
    Night Mode

Elenco

Discover new ideas, create new connections and make new friends

  • Utenti
  • Articoli
  • Pagine
  • Gruppi
  • Events
  • Blogs
  • Offers
  • Jobs
  • Charlotte Fenwick ha aggiunto una foto Literature
    2026-08-20 02:06:26 -
    The Pale Exile
    I woke in the ice. Cold bit my teeth. Stone walls. Damp. Smell of rot and old blood. I was wet. Shivering. The cold was not air. It was weight. It pressed on my chest. I gasped. No sound. My throat was dry. Parched. Like sand. I sat up. The room was small. A cell. Stone. Moss grew in the cracks. Green. Slimy. I looked at my hands. They were red. Nails broken. Skin cracked. I wore a tunic. Rough...
    0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 1 Views 0 Anteprima
    Effettua l'accesso per mettere mi piace, condividere e commentare!
  • Josephine Winthrop ha aggiunto una foto Literature
    2026-08-20 02:07:19 -
    The Faded Root
    The building stands at the end of a street that has no name, only a number painted in peeling white paint on the brick, 402, and you stand before it in the rain, watching the water streak down the facade like tears that have dried and been wept again. It is a structure of severe geometry, all right angles and cold concrete, a place where decisions are made that do not require a soul, only a...
    0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 5 Views 0 Anteprima
    Effettua l'accesso per mettere mi piace, condividere e commentare!
  • Josephine Ashworth ha aggiunto una foto Literature
    2026-08-20 02:06:20 -
    The Pale Bonsai
    The jar sat on the metal table. It was clear glass. Inside, a single root ball floated in saline. The root was pale. It looked like a bone. It was not a bone. It was a specimen. Dale sat across from it. He wore his uniform. The fabric was stiff. It smelled of starch and old sweat. He did not move. His hands were flat on the table. He watched the root. It did not grow. It did not rot. It...
    0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 1 Views 0 Anteprima
    Effettua l'accesso per mettere mi piace, condividere e commentare!
  • Josephine Merritt ha aggiunto una foto Literature
    2026-08-20 02:07:22 -
    The Faded Portrait
    The ink bleeds through the parchment with a slow, arterial violence, spreading its black tendrils into the fibers of the paper as if it were a living thing, a parasite consuming the words you once believed were your own. You hold the document in your hands, your fingers stained with the same soot that coats the air of the train car, and you realize with a cold, settling weight in your stomach...
    0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 1 Views 0 Anteprima
    Effettua l'accesso per mettere mi piace, condividere e commentare!
  • Catherine Fairchild ha aggiunto una foto Literature
    2026-08-20 02:06:24 -
    The Distant Temple
    The mortar cracked along its hairline fracture with a sound indistinguishable from a sigh, a subtle exhalation of dust and ancient calcium that drifted through the amber light of the cathedral’s nave, settling upon the velvet cushions of the choir stalls where Dr. Elias Thorne sat, his fingers stained not with ink, but with the powdery residue of a civilization that had long since ceased to...
    0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 1 Views 0 Anteprima
    Effettua l'accesso per mettere mi piace, condividere e commentare!
  • James Lockhart ha aggiunto una foto Literature
    2026-08-20 02:07:12 -
    The Faded Ruin
    The hall smells of yeast and old iron. It is the smell of the mill before it stopped, preserved in the breath of three hundred workers who have gathered for the annual Harvest Supper. You sit at the long table, your hands folded in your lap. Your fingers are thick, the knuckles swollen with the specific arthritis of the loom. You are a weaver. You have been a weaver for forty years. Your son,...
    0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 1 Views 0 Anteprima
    Effettua l'accesso per mettere mi piace, condividere e commentare!
  • Amelia Bradshaw ha aggiunto una foto Literature
    2026-08-20 02:07:09 -
    The Faded Ruin
    The heavy oak door groaned as it was forced open, a sound like a man clearing his throat after a long, painful cough, and Margaret stood in the threshold with her hands wrapped tightly around the hilt of her ceremonial dagger, the leather worn smooth and soft as skin from years of anxious gripping. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of wet stone and stale incense, a suffocating perfume...
    0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 1 Views 0 Anteprima
    Effettua l'accesso per mettere mi piace, condividere e commentare!
  • Amelia Ashworth ha aggiunto una foto Literature
    2026-08-20 02:08:30 -
    The Wistful Dinner
    The rain had not stopped for three days, a relentless, grey curtain that turned the muddy tracks of the valley into sucking pits of black earth, and as I stood at the edge of the cliff with my back to the sheer drop, watching the mist swallow the distant village of Oakhaven, I felt the weight of my brother’s coat on my shoulders, a garment that no longer fit me, heavy with damp wool and the...
    0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 2 Views 0 Anteprima
    Effettua l'accesso per mettere mi piace, condividere e commentare!
  • Beatrice Calloway ha aggiunto una foto Literature
    2026-08-20 02:07:59 -
    The Pale Letter
    The stationmaster had already packed your trunk before you finished pouring the last of the tea, a gesture so efficient and cold it felt less like hospitality and more like the closing of a file. The air in the waiting room of the Great Northern Terminus smelled of coal smoke, damp wool, and the metallic tang of impending departure. You stood by the window, watching the steam rise from the...
    0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 1 Views 0 Anteprima
    Effettua l'accesso per mettere mi piace, condividere e commentare!
  • Nathaniel Winthrop ha aggiunto una foto Literature
    2026-08-20 02:07:21 -
    The Pale Altar
    "The ledger is short." Thomas Ashworth did not look up. His pen moved in a steady, rhythmic scratch across the paper. The sound was dry, like the rustle of dead leaves in a tin cup. "By three pence," he said. His voice was flat. It had no edge. It had no heat. It was the voice of a man who had forgotten how to be angry because he had used up all his anger on the cold. Eleanor Fairchild stood by...
    0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 4 Views 0 Anteprima
    Effettua l'accesso per mettere mi piace, condividere e commentare!
  • Mostrati (382811-382820 di 947371)
  • «
  • Prec.
  • 38280
  • 38281
  • 38282
  • 38283
  • 38284
  • Succ.
  • »
© 2026 Co-Scribe Italiano
English Arabic French Spanish Portuguese Deutsch Turkish Dutch Italiano Russian Romaian Portuguese (Brazil) Greek
About Termini e Condizioni Privacy Contattaci Support Center Elenco