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 Wistful CrossroadsThe morning light fell through the high, arched windows of the manor house like a heavy, golden curtain, illuminating the dust motes that danced in the stillness of the air, a silence so profound it seemed to possess a physical weight, pressing against the eardrums and settling into the marrow of the bones, while in the heart of the estate, amidst the sprawling gardens that had once been the...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded FrequencyThe feast was a wound in the darkness, a blinding hemorrhage of tallow and smoke that swallowed the great hall whole. I stood at the edge of the table, my hands stiff with cold, watching the candlelight tremble against the ancient stone walls. The air tasted of roasted lamb and wet wool, a heavy, cloying scent that clung to the throat. Outside, the wind howled through the ivy-choked windows, a...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale CircusYou wake in the dark. The air is cold. It smells of iron and old paper. You are lying on a hard surface. A metal bedframe. The springs groan under your weight. You do not know how long you have been there. You do not know where you are. Your body aches. A dull, persistent pain in your shoulders. Your head feels heavy. Thick. You sit up. The room is small. Gray walls. A single window. The glass...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden GreenhouseThe road was wet. Your boots were heavy. You walked. The village of Oakhaven sat in a valley of mist. It was an old place. The houses were stone. The windows were dark. You carried a box. It was wooden. It was heavy. Inside the box was a fern. It was green. It was alive. You had bought it from a merchant. The merchant had a kind face. He had told you it would bloom. He had told you it would...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded Attic"Put it down, you old fossil, before you break your neck," the boy said, his voice cracking with a mix of teenage impatience and a strange, underlying pity that made the air in the small, cluttered storage room feel suddenly thick and unbreathable. Thomas Bradshaw did not put down the rusted iron hinge, the one that had once held shut the heavy oak door of the barracks in a town whose name he...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale BonsaiThe air in the cell smelled of wet stone and iron. I counted the cracks in the ceiling. Twelve. I counted them every morning. They did not change. I am a man of precision. I built machines. I made them think, in a crude way. I made them weave. I made them count. Now I sit in a box. The box is cold. The walls are thick. I am the last of the weavers. My name is Arthur. I do not speak it often....0 Comments 0 Shares 6 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale BannerThe great hall of Aldenbury stood not in silence but in a roar, a cacophonous tide of clinking silver, the wet slap of roasted meats upon tallow-stained wooden boards, and the thunderous, rhythmic pounding of the castle’s ancient heart which seemed to vibrate through the stone floorboards and into the marrow of every guest who had gathered to witness the consecration of the new warden, a...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant TempleThe dream was always the same. It was not a vision of peace, but a memory of weight. Colonel Arthur Penhallow stood in a field of gray mist, holding a small, brass astrolabe. It was not an instrument for the stars. It was a tool for the blood. In his hands, it hummed with a low, terrible vibration. He knew, with the certainty of a man who has seen the bottom of a well, that the device did not...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful AsylumThe rain had not stopped for six days, a relentless, grey curtain that turned the cobblestones of the old quarter into a mirror of sorrow, and it was within this unbroken weeping that Elara Vane had first noticed the way the glass fractured. She stood in the high window of the library, her fingers pressed against the cold pane, watching the world dissolve into a smear of wet slate and dying...0 Comments 0 Shares 4 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek