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 Distant ThresholdThe feast was a roar of iron and sweat, the long tables groaning under the weight of roasted boar and barrels of dark, bitter ale. The air in the great hall was thick enough to chew, heavy with the stench of unwashed bodies, woodsmoke, and the metallic tang of blood that had not yet been washed from the floor. It was a night of celebration, or so the banners claimed, but the joy felt brittle,...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded ChronicleThe coffee was cold. It had been cold for twenty minutes. Gerald didn’t move. He just stared at the black surface, watching a single, oily ring of foam settle into the center. It looked like a pupil. It looked like an eye. "Did you hear that?" Gerald didn’t look up. His fingers tightened around the ceramic mug. The handle was smooth. It was always smooth. "Hear what, Jerry?" The voice was soft....0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded PortraitThe train shook. Dust coated my teeth. I spat on the gravel. It clung. I looked at the box. It was heavy. The wood was oak. Dark. I had carried it for six hours. My shoulders burned. The heat pressed down. The sky was white. Bleached. I saw the station ahead. Smoke billowed from the engine. Black. Thick. I closed my eyes. I breathed in. It tasted of coal. I am a man of law. I used to be. Now I...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden RitualThe concrete cracked under the weight of the patrol car’s tires, a jagged spiderweb of grey fracture lines that spread across the intersection like a map of old, unresolved wounds. Elias Thorne sat behind the wheel, his hands resting loosely on the steering column, his knuckles white not from tension but from the sheer, grinding stillness of the morning. The city of Oakhaven was waking up, a...0 Comments 0 Shares 30 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant JourneyMara woke from a dream of falling water. The sound was there, still, a low hum in the walls of the apartment. She lay still. The sheets were damp with sweat. Outside, the city breathed its grey, industrial breath. It was morning. Or what passed for it in this part of London. The light was thin. It cut through the blinds in sharp, white slivers. She sat up. Her head throbbed. She looked at her...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful SilenceThe iron taste of blood mixes with the dust of the mill, a metallic tang that coats your tongue and reminds you that you are still flesh, still a body capable of bleeding, while the air around you thickens with the smoke of burning cotton. You are standing in the heart of the Great Loom, a cathedral of machinery that stretches into the gloom, a place where the rhythm of the pistons dictates the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful ThroneThe glass cracked. It was a thin, white line, like a vein of frost on a cold pane. It started at the rim and spidered toward the center. David looked up. He did not blink. Marcus stood at the head of the table. He held a heavy crystal tumbler in his right hand. The liquid inside was amber, thick, and still. It did not spill. It stayed perfectly level, defying gravity, defying logic. "Did you...0 Comments 0 Shares 22 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded DustThe bell tolled. It was a heavy, iron sound. It did not ring. It struck the air. Thomas Ashworth stood at the threshold. He did not look back. The monastery door swung shut. The cold bit his neck. He was a clerk. He had been a clerk for ten years. His hands were stained with ink. The ink was black. It was permanent. The Abbot had called him. That was the beginning. Or the end. It depended on...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful ShowThe wind off the North Sea did not blow so much as it scraped, a constant, abrasive friction against the stone walls of the Blackwater Mint, a place that smelled of wet iron, stale sweat, and the metallic tang of fear. Elara stood at the anvil, her shoulders hunched not in defeat but in a terrible, coiled readiness, the hammer in her hand heavy as a coffin lid. She was not human, though she...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek