0 Comments
0 Shares
0 Views
0 Reviews
Directory
Discover new ideas, create new connections and make new friends
-
Please log in to like, share and comment!
-
The Distant JourneyThe ink on the letter was still wet, bleeding slightly into the thick, cream-colored paper. Elias Thorne held it in his trembling hands, the weight of the document feeling heavier than the heavy oak desk it rested upon. Outside the window, the rain lashed against the glass of the municipal office, a relentless gray curtain that blurred the town of Oakhaven into a smear of stone and slate. It...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale ExileThe train left at dawn. It was a gray, slurry morning, the kind that seemed to dissolve the edges of the world into a thick, wet fog. Elias stood on the platform, his breath misting in the cold air. He held a small, burlap sack in his hand. Inside, wrapped in a layer of oilcloth, was a single, withered stalk of white asphodel. It had been dead for three days. The leaves were brown and brittle,...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant JourneyThe rain had been falling on the city of Oakhaven for three days, a persistent, cold mist that seemed to seep into the very stone of the walls and the wood of the floorboards. It was not a storm, but a slow, suffocating dampness that made the air heavy and tasted of iron and old rot. Thomas Bradshaw stood at the edge of the courtyard, his hand resting on the hilt of a sword that felt more like...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant MetropolisThe rain had not stopped for three days. It drummed against the corrugated metal roof of the holding cell with a rhythmic, relentless persistence that felt less like weather and more like a judgment. You sat on the cold concrete floor, your back against the reinforced steel door, knees drawn to your chest. The air smelled of wet wool, stale sweat, and the metallic tang of old blood that never...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant GhostThe coffee was cold. It tasted of burnt metal and old dust. Elias stirred it. The spoon scraped the bottom of the mug. A sharp sound in the quiet kitchen. He needed caffeine. His hands shook. Not from fear. From the cold. The apartment was drafty. Winter pressed against the windows. He looked at the counter. A small box sat there. Leather. Worn. The corners frayed. It was his grandfather’s...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful Mirror"Look at the glass, Elias. Look at it." Margaret’s voice was thin, stripped of its usual velvet warmth. It cut through the fog that hung over the valley like a wet shroud. Elias did not look. He looked at his hands. They were trembling. Not with cold. The air was warm, thick with the scent of ozone and crushed mint. They trembled because the world was wrong. Or perhaps, he was. The village of...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant WoundThe rain hits the window like static. You are holding a cup of cold tea. The water has gone to the bottom. You watch it swirl. It looks like a galaxy dying. Outside, the sirens do not wail. They hum. A low, constant drone that vibrates in your teeth. It is the sound of the State breathing. You are in the kitchen. The tiles are cracked. You have not fixed them. You never fix things. Fixing...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant NightmareYou wake with the taste of iron on your tongue, a metallic tang that coats the roof of your mouth like a forgotten coin. It is a cold taste, sharp and clinical, reminding you instantly of the sterile white walls of the infirmary where you have been confined for three days. You are Elias Thorne, a man of middling years and middling importance, a clerk in the accounts department of a shipping...0 Comments 0 Shares 3 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale VerdictThe walls breathe. You feel it before you see it. A damp, rhythmic expansion. The stone shifts under your boots. Not cracking. Not crumbling. Living. You stand in the center of the hall, the air thick with the scent of wet chalk and old iron. Your uniform is heavy. The wool clings to your skin, soaked through with a sweat that is not yours. It is the sweat of the building. It is the sweat of...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek