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 Pale BannerThe banner hung in the attic, not as a relic, but as a waiting room. It was pale, a color that had faded so far from its original crimson that it now resembled the skin of a man who had forgotten how to bleed. Elias stood before it. The wood floor creaked under his boots, a sound like a bone snapping in the dark. He was a warrior, or had been, before the system had taken his sword and handed...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded FrequencyThe ink was still wet when the rain began to fall, a thin, gray veil that blurred the edges of the world outside the high window of the study. Elias Thorne did not look up. His quill scratched against the heavy parchment, the sound a sharp, rhythmic counterpoint to the distant, muffled thunder rolling across the moors of the ancient city. He was not writing a letter to the living, nor a record...0 Comments 0 Shares 5 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden VisitThe village of Oakhaven lay nestled in the crook of a valley that seemed to hold its breath, a place where the air was thick with the scent of damp earth and the distant, mournful tolling of bells that marked not hours, but the slow, inevitable erosion of the soul. You were not meant to be there, yet here you stood, Margaret Holloway, your hands trembling not from the chill of the autumn...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded ParadoxI dreamed of the cellar. It was dark. Cold. The stone walls wept with condensation, dripping into the silence with a rhythmic, wet percussion. *Drip. Drip. Drip.* I stood before a shelf of glass jars. Inside them, something black and viscous swirled. It looked like ink. It looked like blood. I reached for one. My hand passed through the glass. "You are here," said the voice. It was my own. I...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant BladeThe iron taste of blood is not a flavor but a temperature, a cold fire that settles behind your teeth and radiates outward into the marrow of your bones, and you stand now in the center of the Great Hall, the air thick with the scent of ozone and wet stone, while the silence that follows the clash of your blade against the obsidian shield of the King’s guard is not empty but heavy, a physical...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded RoadThe collapse of the eastern gable was not a sudden event but a slow exhalation of the house into the earth, a final, groaning surrender of timber and thatch to the gravity that had been pulling at its joints for decades. Elias Thorne watched the dust settle from the safety of the lower corridor, his hands trembling not with fear but with the sudden, violent clarity of a man who has just...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful VoyageThe rain did not fall so much as it hung in the air, a suspended curtain of grey mist that clung to the high, arched windows of the manor, blurring the world beyond into a watercolor smear of indistinct shapes and muted greens, and I stood before the grand fireplace, my fingers tracing the cold, rough-hewn stones of the hearth, feeling the chill of the ancient structure seep into my skin, a...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale MeridianThe bell rang. It was a sharp, metallic shriek. It cut the air. It cut the silence. Elias stood by the window. The glass was cold. His breath fogged it. He wiped it away. The fog returned. He was a scholar. He studied the old things. The dead things. The things that should have stayed dead. But they were not dead. Not really. They were waiting. The room was small. The walls were thick. Stone....0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful PetalThe rain had not stopped for three days, turning the cobblestones of the courtyard into a slick, dark mirror that reflected the grey, bruised sky above, and it was in this damp, stagnant silence that Thomas Bradshaw stood, holding a chipped ceramic bowl in his hands as if it were a holy relic or a weapon, waiting for the verdict that would decide whether he was a man or a ghost. The air in the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek