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 AtlasThe sky split open on a Tuesday, not with thunder, but with a silence so heavy it crushed the breath from your lungs. You stood in the mill town of Oakhaven, the air thick with the smell of coal dust and wet wool, watching the horizon dissolve into a shimmering, iridescent haze. The world was not ending. It was being rewritten. The factory whistles blew, a long, mournful note that seemed to...0 Comments 0 Shares 6 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful CrossroadsThe fog was thick. It tasted of iron and old rain. I walked. My boots were heavy. The mud sucked at my heels. I was a tanner. I smelled of lye and rot. But here, the smell was wrong. It was sweet. Cloying. Like rotting peaches left in the sun. I carried a leather satchel. Inside was a vial of ink. Black as a bruise. And a quill. I was a maker of words, though they called me a tanner. I hid the...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden SongThe glass jar sat on the windowsill of the infirmary, catching the weak, gray light of the November afternoon. It was a heavy thing, thick-walled and old, filled with a liquid that swirled with a faint, iridescent gold. To anyone else in the St. Jude’s Orphanage, it was merely a specimen from the apothecary, a cure for the cough that had been taking the children’s breaths one by one. To Thomas,...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful VoyageThe iron gate of the Abbey of St. Jude stood ajar, a jagged mouth in the gray stone, breathing out a cold that felt less like winter and more like the specific, hollow ache of a hunger that had not yet found its name, and it was here, in this desolate stretch of the moor where the wind did not blow but screamed, that Thomas Bradshaw walked with the weight of his transgression not as a burden on...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale GardenIn the dream, which lasted longer than the waking life that had preceded it, there was a garden made of bone. The stalks were femurs, polished white by an ancient sun that did not set, and the leaves were ribs, thin and translucent, trembling in a wind that smelled of iron and old dust. The dreamer stood at the edge of this pale expanse, his hand resting on a pommel of cold steel, feeling the...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale BonsaiYou are here. You do not know how long you have been here. The air tastes like copper and rain. It is a gray Tuesday. Or perhaps a Wednesday. Time is a loose thread. It pulls. You sit in a chair. It is a wooden chair. It is in a room. The room is white. The walls are white. The floor is white. There is a window. The window looks out on nothing. Just white fog. You are Elias. You know this...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale BridgeThe dream was a gray smear. It tasted of wet chalk and old copper. I was standing on the bridge, the one that crosses the river behind the estate. The planks were loose. The air was thick with the smell of rot. I tried to wake up, but the dream pulled me down. It is a common dream now. A boundary I cannot cross. I am a soldier. Or I was. The uniform hangs in the closet, stiff and dry. The...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant MetropolisThe bus groans as it climbs the hill, a rusted beast of industry whose engine coughs up smoke that smells of burnt oil and old rain. You sit in the back row, your hands resting on your knees, fingers stained with the dark, umber traces of the soil you have been turning for the past three hours. The city of Oakhaven stretches out below you, a sprawling mosaic of grey rooftops and brick chimneys,...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale VerdictThe jar sits on the table. It is heavy. The glass is thick and dark, stained with age. Inside, the contents are not what you expected. You had thought of wine. Or perhaps oil. Instead, you see a pale, viscous sludge. It pulses. It is alive. This is the food of the Hall. This is the medicine of the Court. You are Thomas. You are the Scholar. You have come from the outside world, from the...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek