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 Faded ParadoxThe frost bit through my wool coat. It had been biting for three days. I stood at the edge of the moor, the wind tearing at the hem of my greatcoat. In my hands, I held the glass. It was not a single pane. It was a mosaic of shards, bound by wire and stubbornness. A broken window. My badge hung heavy against my chest, a cold weight of authority I no longer trusted. The village below was silent....0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant ClueThe seal sat in Elias’s palm. It was cold. The wax was the color of dried blood. He had held it for three days. It had not changed. The Hall of Records was vast. The air smelled of dust and old paper. Elias sat at a long table. Across from him sat Julian. Julian was the Archivist. Julian was also the man who had betrayed Elias. “You look tired, Elias,” Julian said. His voice was soft. It was...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful IncenseYou stand in the center of the room. The floor is cold stone, worn smooth by centuries of feet you cannot see. The walls are high, made of a pale, porous material that looks like bone but feels like wet clay. There is no door. There is no window. There is only the room, and the altar in the corner, and the man sitting on the floor across from you. His name is Arthur. He is wearing a suit that...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden MasterThe bell did not ring so much as it screamed, a jagged tear in the fabric of the morning that sent a tremor through the ancient stones of the Abbey of St. Jude. It was the Hour of the Breaking, the time when the novices were expected to surrender their names, their histories, and their very shadows to the Order. Elowen stood in the refectory, her fingers laced tightly between her knees,...0 Comments 0 Shares 5 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful CipherThe file was open on the desk. It was thick. It smelled of stale coffee and old paper. Marcus stared at it. His hands were shaking. He looked at the clock. It was 3:00 AM. The rain hit the window. Tap. Tap. Tap. "Is it real?" he whispered. No one answered. The room was cold. The air conditioning hummed. It sounded like a dying bee. Marcus picked up a pen. He uncapped it. The tip was dry. He...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale BannerThe iron gates groaned. It was a sound like a bone breaking. Thomas stood at the center of the courtyard. The cobblestones were wet. Rain slicked the stone. It mirrored the sky. The sky was grey. A bruise in the heavens. He held his sword. It was a blade of steel. Sharp. Cold. The hilt was wrapped in leather. The leather was worn. Smooth from use. His hands were steady. They were always steady....0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful LetterThe iron gate of the Abbey of St. Jude groaned in the wind, a sound like the tearing of old flesh, and as you step through the threshold, leaving the cold, rain-slicked cobblestones of the village below, you feel the weight of the world settle onto your shoulders not as a burden but as a familiar, heavy coat that you have worn so long you have forgotten its existence. You are not a knight, nor...0 Comments 0 Shares 3 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded PhotographThe train arrived in Harrowgate with a shudder that seemed to vibrate through the very marrow of the earth, depositing Elias Thorne onto a platform that smelled of wet concrete and stale diesel. He stood there, a man composed of sharp angles and rigid silence, clutching a leather briefcase that had lost its sheen in the relentless friction of his journey. The air was thin and cold, carrying the...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden SuspectThe mud sucked at Elias’s boots. He pulled free. Left. Right. The forest was a mouth. It wanted him. He ran. Breath tore in his throat. Cold air. Sharp. He was not a man anymore. He was a lung. A heart. A bag of bones. The border was close. He could feel it. The line in the snow. The line in his head. He stopped. Skied. Slipped. “Get up,” he whispered. His hands shook. He looked at them. Dirty....0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek