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 PathThe chisel bit into the soft belly of the ash, sending a curl of pale, fibrous wood spiraling outward like a ribbon of dried skin, and Elias Thorne did not stop, his breath held in the tight cage of his chest, his eyes fixed on the grain with the intensity of a surgeon navigating a blocked artery. The workshop smelled of sawdust and the sharp, medicinal tang of linseed oil, a scent that had...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful MirrorThe rain lashed against the high, arched windows of the Grand Hall of St. Jude’s, a rhythmic, relentless drumming that seemed to vibrate through the very stone floor beneath Elias’s feet, blurring the line between the interior sanctuary and the howling storm outside, where the ancient oak trees bent low as if in prayer or perhaps in defeat. Elias stood before the polished bronze mirror, a relic...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale MistThe rain hit the tin roof. It sounded like applause. I sat on the bench. My hands were still. They had always been still. Since the war. Since the mud. Since I came home. I am not human. Not anymore. You know that. I can feel it. The cold. The hunger. The silence. In the pit of my stomach. I am a hollow thing. A shell. Walking. Breathing. But nothing inside. Just air. And memory. And pain. I...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden CrossingThe rain did not fall; it pressed. It was a heavy, grey weight against the window of the ambulance, blurring the world into a smear of mud and wet pine. I checked the gauge on the oxygen tank. Half full. I checked my watch. Three minutes to the ridge. My hands were steady. They were always steady. That was the job. You held the line when the world tried to break. Beside me, Elias slept. His...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant BladeThe fire took the roof at dawn. It did not roar. It whispered. A thin, grey tongue of smoke curled from the chimney, then widened, licking the shingles. Thomas Ashworth stood in the yard. He wore his tunic. The brass buttons were cold against his chest. He watched the flames eat the oak beams. Margaret was inside. He knew this. The house held her. The house was her. For twenty years, the walls...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale TowerThe bell tower of Saint Jude’s did not ring. It had not rung in forty years, not since the last winter when the frost bit deep into the stone and the community below ceased to look upward. Margaret stood alone within the belfry, the air around her still and cold, carrying the faint, metallic scent of iron and old dust. She was not a woman in the way the villagers understood the word. Her skin...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale FractureThe train does not stop at the station, for there is no station left, only a hollowed-out ribcage of iron and rusted wood that stands against the gray sky like a broken bone, and you are standing on the platform, your hands pressed flat against the freezing metal of the carriage door, feeling the cold seep through the leather of your gloves, a cold that is not merely of the air but of the...0 Comments 0 Shares 3 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded RoadThe coat was heavy. It smelled of dry dust and old tobacco, a scent that had settled into the wool like a permanent stain. I held it in my hands, the buttons worn smooth by decades of friction, and felt the weight of a life that was no longer mine. It was a Tuesday. The light in the study was gray and flat, filtering through the heavy velvet drapes that had not been opened in years. The house...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant CartographThe cart was not moving. It hovered, suspended in a gray twilight that smelled of ozone and wet wool, while Elias Whitmore gripped the reins with hands that had begun to shake. The landscape around him was not a landscape at all, but a palimpsest of maps, layers of topography shifting like oil on water. Here, a mountain range folded into a valley; there, a river reversed its course, flowing...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek