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 Distant MachineThe letter arrived in the damp chill of the November morning, its seal cracked and smelling faintly of sulfur and old paper, a scent that clung to your fingers long after you had crushed the envelope in your palm. You are Elias Thorne, a man who has spent the last decade walking away from the smoke and soot of the industrial cities of the Midwest, seeking in the austere, rain-swept moors of the...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded ChronicleThe rain had not stopped for three days. It drummed a relentless, hollow rhythm against the leaded glass of the library window, a sound that felt less like weather and more like the city’s own heavy breathing. I sat in my study, the air thick with the scent of damp wool and old paper. My hands trembled as I held the book. It was a slim volume, bound in cracked leather that had once been black...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden CompassThe rain did not fall. It hung. It suspended in the air like a fine, gray mist that tasted of iron and old pennies. Elias Thorne walked through it. His boots crunched on gravel that wasn't gravel. It was bone. Small, white fragments of something that had once been alive. He pulled his coat tighter. The fabric was wet, heavy, soaking through to the skin. He did not shiver. He had forgotten how....0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant AffairYou are late. I am not. The clock on the wall ticks. It is a heavy sound. It fills the room. The room is cold. The air smells of dust and old paper. I sit in the corner. My hands are on my knees. They are still. I am a machine. I am a tool. The tool is sharp. The tool is cold. My name is Silas. I am a man of the law. I have worn the badge for thirty years. The badge is heavy. It hangs from my...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant BladeThe banquet hall of the St. Jude’s Institute for Cognitive Restoration hummed with a low, electric thrum that vibrated in the marrow of the bones of every guest present, a sound that was less auditory than somatic, a resonance that suggested the very air was thick with the accumulated weight of secrets that could not be spoken aloud but were instead carried in the subtle, imperceptible shifts...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale BridgeThe banquet hall in the district of Sorrow was not a place where light entered from above, but rather from within, a pulsating, arterial red that seemed to breathe in time with the hundreds of guests who had gathered to celebrate the tenure of Lord Vane, the magistrate who held the city’s pulse in his dry, unyielding hands. I sat at the far end of the long table, a figure so unremarkable that...0 Comments 0 Shares 5 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded ParadoxThe air in the Atrium of Whispers did not smell of dust or decay, but of burnt sugar and ozone, a cloying sweetness that coated the back of the throat like a fever. Elias Thorne, the Keeper of the Lexicon, stood in the center of the circular hall, his hands trembling as he held the vial. It was not a weapon, not a sword or a spear, but a small glass cylinder filled with a viscous, amber liquid...0 Comments 0 Shares 7 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden SuspectYou wake in the dark. The air is thick. It tastes of coal and old blood. You are in a cell. The walls are stone. They are cold against your back. You do not know how you got here. You do not know who you are. You are a man. You are a soldier. You wear a coat. It is torn. It is black. A light cuts the dark. It is thin. It is yellow. It comes from a crack in the door. You watch it. It moves. It...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden MythThe first thing he knew was the smell of wet chalk dust, a fine, white powder that clung to the back of his throat and tasted of silence. He stood in the center of the quadrangle, the damp stone cold against the soles of his boots, while the rest of the watch remained motionless in the shadows of the archway. There was no sound but the faint, rhythmic dripping from the eaves, a metronome...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek