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 Wistful VoyageThe air in the sterilization chamber smelled of ozone and old rust, a metallic tang that clung to the back of Elias Thorne’s throat like a forgotten coin. He sat on the cold steel bench, his hands resting on his knees, fingers interlaced so tightly the knuckles turned the color of parchment. The room was small, a box of brushed aluminum and humming ventilation fans that provided no warmth, only...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful SilenceThe cold of the Hall of Whispers was not merely a temperature, but a weight, a physical pressure that sat upon your shoulders like a wet wool cloak. You stood at the edge of the obsidian floor, your boots silent on the stone, holding the jade vessel in your gloved hands. It was small, no larger than a pomegranate, and it hummed with a low, resonant frequency that you felt in your teeth. This...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale GardenThe bell did not ring so much as it screamed, a high, thin shriek that tore through the heavy, stagnant air of the library’s east wing, shattering the silence that had settled over the university like a burial shroud. I was standing at the head of the long oak table, my hands trembling so violently that the ink in my fountain pen had begun to bleed, spreading a dark, wet stain across the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded PortraitThe rain hammered the tin roof. Elias sat on a crate. He held a coat. It was wool. Heavy. Blue. Faded to grey. He rubbed the sleeve. The fabric pilled. It wore thin. "Put it down," said Thomas. Thomas stood by the fire. He held a glass. The amber liquid trembled. "Elias. Put it down." "It is his," Elias said. His voice was low. Rough. Like gravel. "The Colonel’s coat." "Who?" Thomas asked. He...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded BouquetThe letter lay on the desk. It was not sealed. The ink was still wet, glistening like a bruise. Elias stared at it. The paper was thin. It smelled of sulfur and old rain. He did not pick it up. He knew what it said. He had always known what it would say. The words were not in the letter. They were in the air. They were in the way the shadows in the room had lengthened, stretching toward him...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful SkylineThe rain had been falling for three days, a thin, persistent mist that turned the glass walls of the St. Jude’s Clinic into a blurred watercolor of gray and slate. Inside, the air smelled of antiseptic and cold coffee, a scent that had seeped into the fibers of Mara’s blazer until it became her own odor. She stood by the window, watching the street below where umbrellas bloomed like dark, wet...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant ThresholdYou walk. The mud sucks at your boots. It is heavy. Wet. Cold. You do not stop. You cannot stop. The path is narrow. It cuts through the heath. The wind screams. It sounds like a warning. Or a promise. You do not know which. Your hand rests on the hilt of your sword. The leather is worn smooth. Thin. Almost translucent. You have held this grip for years. Decades. The metal is cold against your...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale PathThe mud sucked at my boots. It was thick and cold and smelled of rot. I kicked it away. I kicked it again. My legs were shaking. Not from cold. From fear. "Stop fighting," said the man behind me. His voice was soft. Too soft for a soldier. He wore a coat of grey wool. It was torn at the hem. "Let it take you." I did not stop. I could not stop. My hands were locked around the hilt of the sword....0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale ShadowsThe sword bit deep. Not into flesh, but into the air itself. A crack like thunder split the silence of the hall. Lord Thomas held his guard, his knuckles white on the hilt of the black iron blade. The blade was not just steel. It was a fragment of the old world, heavy with a weight that had nothing to do with mass. It hummed against his palm, a low, vibrating note that traveled up his arm and...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek