0 Commenti
0 condivisioni
3 Views
0 Anteprima
Elenco
Discover new ideas, create new connections and make new friends
-
Effettua l'accesso per mettere mi piace, condividere e commentare!
-
The Distant TempleThe rain had stopped, but the gutters still wept. Margaret stood at the window of the parlor. The glass was cold against her cheek. She looked out at the gray yard. The iron gate was rusted shut. Inside, the house smelled of damp wool and old paper. It was a heavy smell. It clung to the throat. Margaret pulled her shawl tighter. Her fingers were stiff. She could not feel her hands. Her sister,...0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 2 Views 0 Anteprima
-
The Pale DoorThe rain did not fall so much as it was delivered, a steady, gray payload from the low-hanging clouds that pressed against the high windows of the St. Jude’s Administrative Wing. Elias Thorne sat at his desk, the fluorescent lights humming a low, electric note that seemed to vibrate in his teeth. He was a man composed of thin lines and quiet habits, a data entry clerk whose life had narrowed to...0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 1 Views 0 Anteprima
-
The Faded RoadThe house stood in the shadow of the old manor, a squat stone block that had once held the servants. I have kept it. I have kept it for forty years, though the roof leaks and the floors sag under the weight of my own silence. I am not the master here. I am the ghost who refused to leave the room where he was no longer welcome. The manor itself is gone, or so they say. The new owners have razed...0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 1 Views 0 Anteprima
-
The Pale ExileThe road out of Oakhaven was a ribbon of grey mud that snaked through the autumn woods, and I walked it with the heavy, rhythmic thud of a man who has forgotten how to breathe without effort. My name is Silas Vane, and for twenty years I have been the shield of this valley, the man who stood between the hearth-fire and the cold dark. I carried no sword today. I carried only the weight of a...0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 1 Views 0 Anteprima
-
The Faded MasqueradeThe fog rolled in from the sea. It was thick. It was gray. It tasted of salt and rust. Captain Elias Thorne stood on the dock. His boots were heavy. They were old leather. They soaked up the damp. He held his rifle. The wood was cold. The metal was colder. He did not look at the water. He looked at the tower. The tower rose from the mist. It was not made of stone. It was made of glass. It was...0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 1 Views 0 Anteprima
-
The Faded AlibiThe train did not run on rails. It ran on silence. Elias stood in the vestibule. The glass was fogged. His breath hung there, a ghost of his own. He was a man of letters. Of footnotes. Of careful, dry distinctions. Now he was a man of flesh. And the flesh was failing. His left hand trembled. It was a small thing. A tick. A twitch. Like a fly trapped in amber. He looked at it. He stared until...0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 2 Views 0 Anteprima
-
The Faded AtticThe wind is a blade. It cuts through the wool of your cloak. It cuts through the silence. You are walking. The road is mud. The sky is lead. You carry a spear. You carry a burden. You do not look back. You cannot. The forest looms. It is ancient. The trees are black giants. They watch you. They remember. The air is thick with rot. And with something else. Something sweet. Something wrong. You...0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 1 Views 0 Anteprima
-
The Wistful ThroneThe ink was still wet on the parchment. It shimmered with a damp, oily sheen that caught the light from the single, guttering tallow candle. Thomas Ashworth stared at it. The words were simple. They were cold. They were absolute. *Exile. Immediate. Without trial. For the crime of silence.* He did not feel anger. He felt a strange, heavy calm, as if he were standing at the bottom of a deep,...0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 1 Views 0 Anteprima
-
The Pale ExileThe rain that morning did not fall so much as it hung in the air, a suspended gray veil that turned the cobblestones of the High Street into a mirror for the weeping sky, and it was into this gray, damp silence that Thomas Bradshaw stepped, his collar turned up against the chill that seemed to seep not just into his bones but into the marrow of his being, a cold so profound and pervasive that...0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 1 Views 0 Anteprima
English
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek