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 Faded QuadrantThe mirror is cracked. You see it first in the corner. A thin, white vein of glass. It runs like a river on a map. You stare. You do not blink. The light in the room is gray. It is the color of old ash. You live in the basement. The walls breathe. You feel the dampness in your teeth. You are a detective. You work for the Bureau of Anomalies. It is a small office. It sits above a bakery in...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant ThresholdThe mud on your boots is not the mud of the valley you left behind. It is thick, black, and smells of iron and old rain, a substance that seems to have a pulse of its own. You are walking, though you do not remember deciding to start. The sky above is a bruised purple, hanging low over a landscape that shifts like smoke. There are no trees here, only jagged spires of rock that pierce the...0 Comments 0 Shares 29 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale EchoThe coal dust had settled into a fine, grey silt that coated every surface of the mill, turning the light from the high, grimy windows into a bruised, amber haze that seemed to hold the breath of the entire facility in suspension. I sat at my desk, a slab of dark oak that had long since lost its varnish and gleam, and watched the way the dust motes danced in the shafts of light, drifting with a...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful WitnessThe train cuts through the fog like a blade through silk. You sit by the window. The glass is cold. Your breath fogs it. You wipe it away. The view returns. The city is a smear of gray and amber. You are not supposed to be here. You are supposed to be in the house. You are supposed to be waiting. But the house is a mouth. It eats time. It eats light. It eats you. So you ride. You ride north....0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded AtticThe air in the Great Hall of St. Jude’s Academy was thick with the scent of roasted pheasant and the heavy, cloying sweetness of the honeyed wine that flowed in silver buckets from the cellar. It was the Feast of the Midwinter, the most sacred night in the calendar of the old city, where the stone walls seemed to breathe with the accumulated whispers of centuries. I stood in the shadow of the...0 Comments 0 Shares 6 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale DoorThe feast was loud. It was too loud. The silver clinked against the crystal, a sharp, bright sound that cut through the thick air of the Great Hall. Candles burned low, their flames trembling in the draft from the open windows. The air smelled of roasted goose, stale wine, and the sour sweat of men who had not bathed in days. They were the Kingsmen. They were the judges. They were the wolves in...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful AtlasThe feast was not a celebration of joy, but a calibration of silence. The great hall of the Whitmore estate, a sprawling Victorian monstrosity of stone and iron, was dimly lit by tallow candles that sputtered in the draft. You sat at the head of the long oak table, your hands folded in your lap, your spine rigid against the chair. You were twelve years old, though you carried the weight of a...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant PromiseThe rain did not fall so much as it hung, a grey curtain stitched from mist and despair, sealing the valley in a silence that pressed against your eardrums. You stood at the edge of the precipice, your boots sinking into the mud that smelled of rot and iron. In your hands, you held the shard of obsidian. It was not whole. It had never been whole, not since the moment the world had cracked open...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded MasqueradeThe storm did not arrive with the grace of a herald, but with the brutality of a siege. It was a howling, gray thing that tore at the stone walls of the High Court, a cacophony of wind and rain that seemed to possess a malevolent intelligence. Inside the great hall, where the air was thick with the scent of damp wool and old parchment, Commander Elias Thorne stood before the throne. He was a...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek