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 WhispersThe ink on the ledger page was still wet, a dark, viscous wound against the cream-colored paper, when Elara Vance first noticed that the words were not staying still. She sat in the high-backed leather chair behind the mahogany desk of the textile mill, the air thick with the scent of machine oil and dried lavender that the housekeeper insisted on burning to mask the damp. Outside, the rain...0 Comments 0 Shares 4 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale DanceThe mortar was wet and thick against my skin, cold as the blood of a dead stag, as I stood on the scaffolding of the Blackfriars Keep, watching the siege engine of the Baron’s army groan against the outer wall. I am not what I appear. I am not a man of flesh and bone who breathes the winter air and shivers at the bite of the wind. I am a thing of the old stones, a spirit bound to the...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale DanceThe glass jar sits on the windowsill. It is full. You know it is full. The city hums outside. A low, electric thrum. It vibrates in your teeth. You are twelve. You are still. The rain taps against the pane. It is a soft, persistent drumming. You watch the water bead. It gathers. It falls. It repeats. This is your life now. The jar. The city. The rain. You remember the taste. It was bitter. It...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant GardenThe bell tolled. You heard it. The sound was heavy. It hit the stone. It hit your chest. You stood in the hall. You were alone. The torches burned low. The air smelled of wax. It smelled of dust. It smelled of time. You looked at the sword. It lay on the floor. It was cold. It was silent. You picked it up. It was heavy. It was familiar. It was yours. You walked to the door. The door was...0 Comments 0 Shares 5 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant JokeThe argument over the invoice is already loud when you walk in, the sound of it a physical weight that settles into your shoulders, heavier than the leather satchel you have carried for thirty years, the kind of weight that makes the spine curve not from age but from the sheer gravity of being misunderstood. You stand in the doorway of the grand office on the fourth floor, a room that smells of...0 Comments 0 Shares 6 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden MasterThe glass terrarium sat on the velvet-draped table in the center of the Grand Hall, a fragile monument to a world that no longer existed. Inside, a single orchid, white as bone and stiff as a wire, held its head high. It was the only living thing in the room that had not been broken by the war, or by the men who had come to sort the wreckage of the aristocracy. Julian stood before it, his hands...0 Comments 0 Shares 3 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale GardenThe fog rolled in from the estuary like a living thing, thick and grey, swallowing the stone walls of the manor. Inside, the air was cold. It tasted of damp wool and old wood. Willa sat on the edge of the bed. She was twelve, but she looked older. Her eyes were too wide for her face. They were the color of the river on a stormy day. She did not cry. Crying was for guests. Willa did not cry. She...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant CartographThe coat was red. Not bright. Not fresh. It was the red of dried blood. Or old rust. My father bought it in the market. He said it was a gift. He said, "Keep it clean." I kept it clean. I brushed the dust. I folded the cuffs. I wore it to work. I worked in the office. I typed letters. I filed papers. I sat in the dark. The coat hung on my chair. It smelled of wool. And cold air. And fear. The...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful MountainThe bell did not ring so much as it screamed, a jagged tear in the fabric of the Tuesday morning that ripped through the smog-choked air of the textile mill, shattering the rhythmic, hypnotic thrum of the looms into a chaotic cacophony of screeching metal and shuddering wood. I was only twelve, my fingers still stained with the indigo dye that had seeped into the whorls of my skin like a...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek