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 Golden MythThe dream is not of light, but of the heavy, suffocating scent of wet wool and the rhythmic, deafening thud of the pestle against the mortar, a sound that seems to come not from the room but from the marrow of your own skull, vibrating in the hollows of your teeth and the backs of your eyes as you lie trapped beneath the coarse, unbleached linen sheets, the air thick with the dust of centuries...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful AshesYou hold the rifle. It is cold. Steel and wood. Your hands shake. Not from fear. From the weight. The air here is thick. It tastes of ozone. And old ash. "Move," I say. My voice is flat. A command. I am a captain. Or I was. The rank is a ghost. A paper scrap. Burned in the fire. We walk. Three of us. Me. And Elias. And the girl. Her name is Clara. She does not speak. She only watches. Her eyes...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant PromiseThe bread was black. It sat on the stone slab. Cold. Hard. I held it. My hands shook. The flour dusted my fingers. It was white. It was dry. It was the only clean thing left. The hall was damp. It smelled of rot. It smelled of sweat. It smelled of fear. I was the Baker. I was the Keeper. I was the girl who fed the dead. Mistral stood by the door. He was tall. He was thin. His eyes were dark....0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded PortraitThe rain has been falling on the slate roof of your ancestral home for three days, a persistent, grey curtain that blurs the edges of the world and turns the ancient stone walls into weeping monuments of memory. You stand in the center of the great hall, your hands still stained with the indigo and ochre of your trade, the smell of linseed oil and wet earth clinging to your skin like a second,...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant LegendThe iron clasp on the door of the archives was cold, a biting frost against my palm that seemed to seep through the leather of my glove and into the bone. I had been here for three days, sorting the ledgers of the previous century, my hands stained with the dust of forgotten debts. The air in the undercroft was thick, smelling of damp stone and the slow decay of paper. It was a place where time...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful GridThe letter sits before me on the scarred oak table, the ink still wet and glistening like a bruise, and I am afraid to move, afraid that if I lift my hand the air in this room will shatter, for here in the Hollow, where the mist clings to the hem of the world and the trees grow backward into the sky, time is not a river but a stagnant pool, and we, the forgotten, the misshapen, the ones who...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden SuspectThe mud in Blackwood Creek had a memory. It held the shape of boots long after the owners had walked away, deepening into the earth like a bruise. Elias Thorne looked down at his own feet, the leather of his boots worn thin, the soles fraying at the heel. He had been walking for three days. His knees ached, a dull, persistent fire that matched the pain in his jaw. He was not a man who walked....0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant ThresholdThe feast was a wound in the dark. Candles guttered against the stone walls of the manor, their light trapped in the dust of centuries. Aelric sat at the head of the long table. He did not eat. The meat was grey. The wine was thick as blood. He watched the smoke rise. It curled. It vanished. He had come here as an exile. A wanderer. A man with no name that the world recognized. Now he was the...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant TempleThe bell did not ring. It hung. Elara stood in the hall. Stone dust fell from her hair. It looked like snow. She had come to beg. To beg for bread. To beg for silence. The Duke sat high. His chair was carved from oak. The oak was old. The wood was dark. He looked at her. His eyes were cold. "Go," he said. Elara did not go. "I have a gift," she said. Her voice shook. The Duke leaned back. He...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek