0 Comments
0 Shares
1 Views
0 Reviews
Directory
Discover new ideas, create new connections and make new friends
-
Please log in to like, share and comment!
-
The Wistful CipherThe fog did not roll in; it settled, a heavy, grey blanket that smelled of wet wool and rust, clinging to the iron girders of the Blackwater Bridge. Captain Elias Thorne stood at the edge of the walkway, his hand resting on the cold railing, feeling the vibration of the city below—a low, thrumming hum that sounded less like traffic and more like the pulse of a dying beast. He was a man carved...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant CartographThe banquet hall of the Abbey of Saint Jude smelled of roasted pork and wet wool, a thick, cloying scent that hung in the air like a shroud, obscuring the flickering candlelight that danced against the stone walls while Margaret sat at the far end of the long oak table, her hands resting on her lap, hidden from the eyes of the other women who watched her with a mixture of pity and thinly veiled...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful IncenseYou are walking. The ground is not dirt. It is not stone. It is a composite material, smooth and cold, humming with a low frequency that you feel in your teeth. You are wearing a suit that does not exist. It is tailored from static and regret. The fabric shifts when you look at it, blurring at the edges like a bad transmission. You are running. You are always running. But here, speed is a...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale MeridianIt was not the silence that frightened me, but the way the silence listened. I stood in the center of the great hall of Blackwood Manor, the air thick with the scent of dried lavender and old dust, and I felt the weight of the house pressing down upon my shoulders like a physical thing, a leaden shroud drawn tight around my ribs. My wife, Eleanor, had died three weeks prior, and in the time...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden EchoesThe feast hall of the Citadel of Oakhaven burned with a light that was not entirely of this world, for the tallow candles, thick as a man’s forearm and woven from the fat of ancient, slumbering leviathans, did not so much illuminate the stone arches as they seemed to breathe a golden, viscous fog into the air, a fog that settled upon the velvet robes of the high commanders and the polished...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant JokeThe bell rang. It was a sharp sound. It cut the air. "Are you coming?" Elias looked up. He held a dead sparrow in his hand. Its eyes were closed. Its feathers were grey. They matched the sky. "I am here," Elias said. His voice was low. It was rough. Like old stone. The boy stood at the door. He was young. He was new. His name was Thomas. He wore a blue coat. It was too big for him. It flapped...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale ShadowsThe bus groaned as it climbed the mountain pass, its engine wheezing against the thinning air. Elias sat by the window, his knuckles white around a small, leather-bound notebook. He was a man of quiet habits and loud thoughts, a professor of linguistics who had traded the damp stone of Oxford for the sterile hum of the Sanitarium on Mount Aethel. He had come here to study the patients. He had...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful CrossroadsThe train is moving, and you are looking at the handle, the brass one that has been polished by ten thousand anxious palms until it shines like a wet eye. You remember the day we bought it, how the shopkeeper in that dusty little antique store in Prague told us it was from a carriage that had carried a queen, and we laughed, you and I, because we were just two people trying to survive a winter...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded AtticThe rain did not fall so much as it descended, a heavy, grey curtain that dissolved the sharp edges of London into a smear of wet brick and sodium light. Elias Thorne stood in the doorway of the dilapidated row house on Vesper Street, his coat soaked through to the skin, watching the water trace chaotic paths down the glass. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of damp plaster and old...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek