0 Commenti
0 condivisioni
2 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 Wistful CrossroadsThe rain in Oakhaven did not fall so much as it hung, a gray, suspended fog that turned the world into a watercolor left too long in the wash. Sergeant Elias Thorne stood at the edge of the town’s only gas station, his boots soaking through the thin soles, watching the wiper of a rusted sedan sweep back and forth in a rhythmic, mechanical trance. He was waiting for a car that the dispatch radio...0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 2 Views 0 Anteprima
-
The Wistful LetterThe ink was wet. It glistened like a wound on the parchment. I held the letter in my hand, the weight of it absurd, a feather and a stone at once. I had written it to myself, or rather, to the man I had been before the roads turned to mud and the sky turned to ash. I am here. The castle is silent. The words were short. Sharp. They cut the silence of the room. I stood in the tower, the wind...0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 4 Views 0 Anteprima
-
The Wistful SilenceThe rain had not stopped for three days, turning the cobblestones of the King’s Road into a slick, treacherous mirror that reflected the grey, weeping sky and the towering, jagged silhouette of the Guild Hall, a place where I had spent the better part of my life polishing other men’s reputations until they gleamed with a false, cold light. I am Thomas, a man of no great station, merely a clerk...0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 2 Views 0 Anteprima
-
The Faded MasqueradeThe rain did not fall; it hung, a grey curtain of static between the sky and the cracked asphalt of the drive. Inside the kitchen of the crumbling Victorian manor, the air smelled of damp wool and old paper. Eleanor stood before the counter, her hands submerged in a basin of cold water. She was washing a mask. It was not a face. It was a piece of glass, blown thin and painted with the features...0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 18 Views 0 Anteprima
-
The Golden MasterThe house smelled of ozone and old paper. It was a heavy, metallic scent that clung to the back of my throat, tasting of copper pennies held too long in a closed mouth. I sat in the study, the air thick with the hum of the vacuum tubes. Outside, the rain lashed against the windowpanes, a relentless drumming that seemed to vibrate in my own bones. I was alone. I had been alone for three days....0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 2 Views 0 Anteprima
-
The Faded PortraitThe air in the Hall of Mirrors did not smell of dust. It smelled of ozone and crushed violets. Captain Elias Thorne stood at the edge of the vast, circular room. The floor was polished obsidian, black as a moonless night. It reflected his uniform, the silver buttons gleaming like cold stars. But the reflection was wrong. In the glass below, he was not a man in a blue tunic. He was a stag. A...0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 3 Views 0 Anteprima
-
The Pale ExileThe mortar in the mixing bowl had hardened into a gray, jagged rock. Elias stared at it. The trowel lay beside it, stiff with dried cement. He had been here for three hours. The apartment was cold. The heating system in this building was old. It sputtered. It groaned. It gave up easily. Elias wiped his hands on his apron. He was a builder. A master of concrete and steel. He knew the tensile...0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 3 Views 0 Anteprima
-
The Golden SuspectThe mud beneath my boots was black and slick, tasting of iron and rot, as I stood in the courtyard of the White Citadel. Rain lashed my face, cold needles piercing the armor that no longer fit the shape of the boy I had been a season ago. I was Lord Julian Ashworth, or at least, that was the name the scribes had etched into the ledger of the dead before I rose from the pile of bodies to claim...0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 2 Views 0 Anteprima
-
The Faded PhotographThe hall smelled of wet wool, stale beer, and the metallic tang of fear, a scent that had become so ingrained in my nostrils during my years as a patrol officer in the iron-and-brick district that I no longer registered it as an odor, only as a physical weight pressing against my eardrums. It was the annual gala of the Municipal Watchmen’s Benevolent Society, a grotesque masquerade of...0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 4 Views 0 Anteprima
English
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek