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 FrontierThe fire started in the wall. It was a small thing. A spark from the stove, or perhaps a fault in the wiring. You did not think about the cause. You only saw the smoke. It curled into the hallway. It smelled of ozone and old dust. You stood in the kitchen. Your wife, Elena, was by the window. She held a cloth to her mouth. Her eyes were wide. “Go,” she said. The word was soft. It hung in the...0 Comments 0 Shares 3 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful SilenceThe email from the university arrived on a Tuesday, buried beneath a stack of invoices for the new heating system. It was from Dr. Aris Thorne, my former mentor at the college, a man who had once held a tenured chair in Comparative Literature and now held nothing but a small, drafty office in the basement of the Humanities building. The subject line was blank. The body contained a single...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale ProtocolThe air in the Antechamber of the Sovereign’s Office tasted of ozone and old paper, a dry, electric sharpness that coated the back of my throat. I stood rigid, my hands clasped behind my back, feeling the heavy wool of my coat pull at my shoulders. It was a heavy coat, charcoal grey, cut from a fabric so dense it felt less like clothing and more like a second skin, a shell designed to hold in...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant MachineThe letter lay on the oak table. It smelled of rain and iron. Elias wrote. The ink was blue. The pen was sharp. He held the quill. His hand did not shake. Not anymore. He looked out the window. The city slept. It was an old city. Stone and slate. The streets were wet. The fog was thick. It clung to the walls. It hid the spires. It swallowed the light. He was a boy. He was not old. But his eyes...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful WitnessThe rain did not fall. It hovered. Elias stood in the center of the room. The walls were made of fog. They breathed. He was a prisoner here. Not by chains. By silence. The silence was heavy. It pressed against his ears. It pressed against his chest. He held the stone. It was warm. It was the only thing that was warm. "Put it down," said a voice. The voice came from nowhere. It came from...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale EchoThe frost on the windowpane is a lattice of white veins, spreading across the glass like a frozen river delta, and you are staring at it while the sound of the drilling in the next room vibrates through the floorboards, a low, rhythmic thrum that settles into your teeth. You are a master of restoration, a craftsman of wood and varnish, and your hands, stained permanently with the tannins of oak...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale GardenYou will find that the mirror does not break; it simply reveals the fracture that has always existed within the glass, a hairline fault running through the center of your reflection like a river of light in a dark landscape, and you will stand before it in the cold, stone-floated hall of the Ashworth estate, your breath misting in the air, feeling the weight of the centuries pressing down on...0 Comments 0 Shares 3 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden CircuitThe ink on the parchment had not yet dried when the wind shifted, carrying with it the scent of wet stone and ancient, rotting wood. Alderman Silas Vane sat in the center of the round chamber, his back pressed against the cold, unyielding wall of the Keep. The air was thick, stagnant, smelling of candle smoke and the metallic tang of fear that had seeped into the very mortar of the fortress. He...0 Comments 0 Shares 4 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded BouquetThe air in the basement of the Whitmore & Sons textile mill did not smell of fabric. It smelled of wet iron and the sweet, cloying rot of overripe fruit. I sat at the center of the circular workbench, my hands resting on the leather apron I had worn for thirty years. The apron was stiff, cracked at the elbows, a second skin that had absorbed the sweat and the dye of a lifetime. Around me, the...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek