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 WoundThe great hall of the Citadel of Ironwood did not smell of stone or old dust, but of cloying rosewater and the metallic tang of unwashed fear. It was a feast for the High Council, a spectacle of opulence that seemed to float above the squalor of the lower cities, suspended in a bubble of artificial warmth where the air was thick with the scent of roasted boar and expensive perfume. Sir Julian...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden SuspectThe rain did not fall so much as it hovered, a suspended gray mist that clung to the brick facades of the city, turning the cobblestones into slick mirrors that reflected nothing but the indifferent sky and the weary feet of those who walked upon them. Thomas Ashworth stood at the edge of the pavement, his coat damp and heavy, watching the steam rise from a grating in the street, a ghostly...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful LetterThe door closed with a finality that shook the floorboards. Elias stood in the dark hallway. His hands were empty. He looked at his palms. They were clean. Too clean. Where was the blood? Where was the stain that should have been there? He remembered the weight of the bottle. He remembered the taste. Bitter. Sharp. Like iron and old rain. But now, there was nothing. Just the cold air of the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful IncenseThe rain against the floor-to-ceiling glass of the Observation Deck was not a sound but a vibration, a low-frequency hum that I felt in the marrow of my teeth. I stood before the containment field, watching the prisoner, a man named Silas, sleep. He was a warrior in the old sense, his body a map of scars and steel, his face a topography of rigid endurance. He wore the standard-issue restraints,...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale ShadowsThe fire did not begin with a spark, but with a silence so profound it seemed to crack the very stones of the keep. It was a silence that tasted of ash and old iron, a heavy, suffocating quiet that settled over the valley of Aethelgard like a shroud of grey wool. In the high tower, where the wind howled through the arrow slits with a voice like grinding bones, Lord Malacor stood before a mirror...0 Comments 0 Shares 5 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden CellarThe fire started in the basement. It started in the dark, in the damp earth where the roots of the old oak tree twisted like knuckles. It started in Margaret’s hands. She held the match. The flame was small. It was orange. It was bright. It was hers. The building shook. Dust fell from the ceiling of the archive. Papers fluttered. White birds made of ink. They scattered. They died. Margaret...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant ThresholdHe woke with the taste of iron and dust on his tongue, a metallic tang that clung to the roof of his mouth like a bad memory refusing to dissolve, and for a brief, disorienting second he was not in the sterile, fluorescent-lit holding room of the regional branch office but back in the dusty, sun-bleached workshop of his father, surrounded by the smell of ozone and solder, holding the small,...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant NightmareThe mortar was grey. It was cold. It smelled of iron and old rain. Julian held the bowl. His hands trembled. He was a scholar of the court. He knew the weight of a stone. He knew the taste of fear. He did not know the taste of this. The king sat on the throne. He looked small. The throne looked large. The room was dark. Candles flickered. The shadows danced. They looked like rats. They looked...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale MistThe rain in Harrowgate did not fall so much as it hung, a suspended grey shroud that turned the cobblestones into dark, slick mirrors reflecting the soot-stained facades of the textile mills and the low, crumbling row of houses where I kept my ledger and my silence. I was a man of precise measurements and quiet dread, a clerk in the Accounts Department of Ashworth & Sons, a position that...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek