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 Faded RootThe rain had been falling for three days, a relentless, grey curtain that turned the world outside the windows of the sprawling Victorian house into a blurred watercolor of mud and leaf litter, a damp, rotting mirror that reflected nothing but the exhaustion of the men who now occupied the parlor, men who wore their fatigue with the same casual, heavy grace that the house itself wore its...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded BouquetThe mirror cracked. It started at the top. A thin, white vein. It spread down. Fast. Like ice on a river. I watched it. My hands were still. They had to be still. If they moved, the glass would shatter. It would be gone. "Did you see that, Thomas?" I asked. Thomas stared. His eyes were wide. His mouth was open. He did not blink. He was a tall man. He wore a grey coat. The coat was old. The...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant ThresholdThe barn door swung open with a groan that sounded like a whale dying in the deep, and young Thomas Whitmore stood there, holding the thing that had been sleeping in the hayloft for three days, which was not a cat, nor a dog, nor a rat, nor any beast that the farmers of the Blackwater Valley had ever seen, but a creature of pure, liquid light, a thing that seemed to be made of the moon itself...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale GardenThe train hissed. It screamed against the iron teeth of the track. The air was thick. It tasted of coal and rot. Willa sat by the window. Her hands were pale. They trembled. Outside, the landscape was a blur of grey. Trees. Dead trees. They clawed at the glass. She held a locket. It was cold. It was heavy. Inside, a picture. Her mother. Young. Laughing. The face was a ghost. The car was empty....0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale CircusThe banquet hall of the Grand Hotel Aurelius did not smell of food, but of ozone and crushed violets, a scent that clung to the back of the throat like a second skin. Inspector Elias Thorne sat at the head of the long mahogany table, his silver service medals catching the light from the chandeliers above, but his eyes were fixed on the empty chair across from him. The air was thick, humid with...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful SkylineThe coffee in the mug was black, scalding, and smelled of burnt earth, a scent that clung to the back of Sergeant Elias Thorne’s throat like a second skin. He sat alone in the small, windowless interrogation room, the fluorescent light above humming a low, sickening note that seemed to vibrate in his teeth. The room was a box of gray concrete and bad air, a place where men went to be broken...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant PromiseThe frost that claimed the valley did not arrive with the slow, creeping gray of winter but with a sudden, violent shattering of the air, a crystalline implosion that turned the living world into a static, white void in the span of a single, breathless hour. Thomas Bradshaw stood in the center of the great atrium of the Monastery of Saint Jude, his hands wrapped tightly around the hilt of the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden FarceThe ink in the ledger was still wet, a dark, viscous smear that seemed to absorb the light of the tallow candle rather than reflect it, and I sat there in the high, cold office of the Inquisitor’s court, my fingers trembling not from the chill that seeped through the stone walls of this ancient, crumbling fortress, but from the sudden, terrifying recognition of the face staring back at me from...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden DowntownThe iron gates of the sanctuary slammed shut behind us, the sound echoing through the vaulted stone hall like the final breath of a dying god, sealing us in with the scent of damp mortar and ancient dust. I stood there, my small hands trembling not from the cold that seeped through my woolen tunic, but from the sheer, crushing weight of the silence that had fallen after Father Elias’s voice had...0 Comments 0 Shares 5 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek