0 Comments
0 Shares
3 Views
0 Reviews
Directory
Discover new ideas, create new connections and make new friends
-
Please log in to like, share and comment!
-
The Faded ChronicleThe mud on the road to the northern pass was not merely wet but thick, a clinging paste that sucked at the boots of the patrol with a desperate, sucking sound, as if the earth itself were trying to pull them down into its cold, rotting belly. Thomas Bradshaw walked at the head of the small column, his spine rigid against the biting wind that cut through the heavy wool of his tunic, while behind...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant WhispersThe seal is broken. Not by force, but by time. You see it in the dream, the wax crumbling into dust, the ink fading like a bruise on skin. You are standing in the archive. The air is dry. It smells of rotting paper and old iron. You are the keeper. You have been the keeper for forty years. Or perhaps only three days. Time is a slippery thing here, in the shadow of the High Wall. Your hands are...0 Comments 0 Shares 3 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded ApartmentThe rain did not fall so much as it hung, a gray curtain of dampness that smelled of wet wool and old iron. Inside the cramped office of the mill, the air was thick with the scent of tobacco and the low, persistent hum of the looms outside, a sound that had become the heartbeat of the town. Elias Thorne sat at his desk, his fingers laced loosely over a ledger that was no longer a record of...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden GreenhouseThe fog tasted of iron and burnt sugar. I stood on the platform, my coat tight across the shoulders. The wool had turned to glass. It cut the air. I could not breathe. My name was Arthur. Or perhaps it was something else. It did not matter. The train was late. The clock above me spun backward. Ticks like falling teeth. I looked down at my hands. They were not hands. They were gloves. Thick,...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant JokeThe hall smelled of wet wool, stale beer, and the metallic tang of coal smoke that had seeped through the cracked sash windows and settled into the floorboards like a heavy, invisible silt. It was the annual gathering of the Ironworks Guild, a celebration of industry that had outlived its relevance, held in the Grand Armory, a structure of such imposing, brutalist grandeur that it seemed to...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded RiverYou keep the door open. Always. It is a rule. You do not know why. But you obey. The city hums outside. It is a low, electric thrum. You feel it in your teeth. In your bones. Your mother sits in the chair. Her hands are folded. Her eyes are closed. She looks like stone. Like something carved from the gray air. You watch her. You always watch her. The room is small. White walls. Bare floor....0 Comments 0 Shares 16 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded RuinThe rain fell on the city like a gray shroud. I watched it from the window of the Spire. The glass was cold against my forehead. I pressed my cheek to it. The view was vast and dead. The skyline jagged like broken teeth. The fog swallowed the lower districts. We lived above the mist. We breathed the filtered air. The filters hummed a low, constant note. It was the sound of order. It was the...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale BannerThe fire did not begin with a spark, but with a silence so profound it felt like the air itself was being sucked out of the world, leaving behind only the hollow echo of your own breath. You remember the moment the ceiling began to sag, the plaster dusting the room in a fine, grey snow that settled on your shoulders and the heavy wool of the coat draped over the chair by the window. It was a...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale DanceThe tea was cold. It had been cold for three days. Margaret sat in the corner of the high-ceilinged room, her hands wrapped around the mug. The ceramic was chipped. She did not care. Outside, the rain lashed against the stained glass. The light that came through was grey. It was the color of ash. It was the color of her skin now. "Drink," said the steward. He stood in the doorway. His uniform...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek