0 Commenti
0 condivisioni
2 Views
0 Anteprima
Elenco
Discover new ideas, create new connections and make new friends
-
Effettua l'accesso per mettere mi piace, condividere e commentare!
-
The Faded PhotographElias woke with the taste of iron on his tongue. The dream was gone. He sat up. The room was dark. Rain tapped the glass. He was old. His hands shook. He looked at the letter on the desk. It was from the Board. They wanted him to leave. Not because he was bad. Because he was strange. They called it an incompatibility. He smiled. He knew better. He knew what he had seen. He knew what he had...0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 4 Views 0 Anteprima
-
The Distant ClueThe iron gate of the Blackwood Asylum groaned shut behind me, sealing the autumn chill inside with the rest of the world. I had walked three miles in the mud to get here, my boots heavy with the clay of the moors, my uniform stained by the relentless, rotting rain that had fallen since dawn. My name is Elias Thorne, and I am a man who has spent twenty years keeping the peace in a place where...0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 2 Views 0 Anteprima
-
The Pale ProtocolThe ink is wet. It always is when I write these down, as if the act of remembering requires a fresh bleed of time. I am sitting in the high office of the Ministry of Internal Affairs, the room that smells of old varnish and the faint, metallic tang of the radiator. It is a Tuesday, or perhaps a Wednesday; the days here have lost their distinct edges, blurring into a single, long duration of...0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 2 Views 0 Anteprima
-
The Faded RiverThe rain had been falling for three days, a steady, gray drizzle that turned the dirt roads of the valley into thick, sucking mud and made the air smell of wet stone and decaying leaves. Thomas Bradshaw sat in the back of his patrol truck, the engine idling with a low, rhythmic hum that vibrated through the soles of his boots. He was a man of forty-five, though the lines around his eyes and the...0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 2 Views 0 Anteprima
-
The Wistful MountainThe train hissed into the station, a long, mournful exhalation that seemed to strip the color from the autumn afternoon. You stood on the platform, your uniform pressed sharp, your cap low over your eyes. In your hands, you held the brass compass. It was not a standard issue item. The casing was dented, the glass cracked in a spiderweb pattern that you had carefully sealed with resin three...0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 2 Views 0 Anteprima
-
The Distant ThresholdThe coat hangs in the hall. It is wool, heavy and dark, smelling of rain and old smoke. You look at it. You have looked at it for three days. It belongs to you. Or rather, it belonged to you, before the incident at the docks. Before the shouting. Before the silence that followed. The city is gray today. The light filters through the clouds like milk through a sieve. It touches the pavement and...0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 2 Views 0 Anteprima
-
The Wistful CrossroadsThe bell tower of the Monastery of Saint Jude did not ring at noon, but it screamed, a jagged tear in the fabric of the afternoon silence that pulled the entire order of the Black Capes from their slumber of prayer and paperwork into a state of terrified, frantic alertness. Brother Julian, who held the rank of Inquisitor of Minor Heresies, felt the vibration in his teeth before he heard the...0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 2 Views 0 Anteprima
-
The Distant ClueHe dreamed of a hand. It was his own, but larger. The knuckles were swollen, red, and raw. The nails were torn. In the dream, he held a small, silver object. It was cold. He squeezed it. The metal bit into his palm. He woke with his fist clenched. The room was dark. The air smelled of coal smoke and old paper. He lay still. His heart hammered against his ribs. A slow, heavy rhythm. He opened...0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 3 Views 0 Anteprima
-
The Pale PathThe steam from the locomotive did not smell of coal, as it should have, but of wet wool and old pennies, a scent that clung to the back of my throat and refused to be swallowed. We were moving north, into the fog that hung over the valley like a shroud, and I sat by the window, watching the trees blur into gray streaks that looked less like wood and more like the scratches of a thousand blind...0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 2 Views 0 Anteprima
English
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek