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 CartographThe morning you left the guild, the fog lay so thick upon the cobblestones of the Old Quarter that it seemed the world had been wrapped in wet wool, suffocating the streets in a grey, silent breath. You did not look back at the workshop, where the scent of tanned leather and old glue still hung in the air, thick and sweet, a perfume of industry that had defined your hands for twenty years. You...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale CircusThe rain fell in sheets of grey. It beat against the windowpane. I watched the glass blur. The city outside was a smear. London in the rain is a ghost. A place of echoes. I sat at my desk. The lamp hummed. A low, electric drone. It filled the silence. I was alone. The office was empty. The others had left. They always left. I remained. I am a creature of habit. Of duty. My name is Arthur. I...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden CellarThe rain had not stopped in three days. It drummed against the canvas of the truck, a relentless, rhythmic percussion that matched the thumping of Elias’s heart. He drove the gravel road toward the valley floor, the white lines of the highway blurring in the rearview mirror. In the passenger seat, a single object sat on a pillow of wool. It was a brass compass, old and tarnished, its face...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant TempleThe iron bars of the cell vibrate with a low, subsonic hum that you feel not in your ears but in the marrow of your shins, a vibration that travels up through the soles of your worn boots and settles into the bruised flesh of your knees, where the stone floor is cold enough to leech the heat from your body and replace it with a damp, creeping chill that makes your fingers stiff and your joints...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded SutraThe coat was red. Not a deep, wine red, but a bright, screaming vermilion. It looked ridiculous on me. I knew it looked ridiculous. I put it on anyway. "Who are you?" I asked the mirror. The mirror didn't answer. It just showed a woman with dirt under her fingernails and a face that had forgotten how to relax. I buttoned the coat to the chin. It felt tight. It felt like armor. It felt like a...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful SagaThe old lighthouse stood not on a cliff, but buried in the center of a field that had slowly, over the last century, swallowed the stone and iron of its base. To the villagers of Blackwood, it was a curiosity, a jagged tooth of white rock sticking out of the dark soil like a broken bone. To Elias Thorne, it was the only thing that remained of the world he had left behind, and the only thing...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale CircusThe road is wet. It is the year of our Lord 1348, or perhaps 1349. Time has grown slippery here. You are a scholar of the old tongues, a keeper of words that no longer fit the mouths of the living. You hold a book. It is bound in pale leather, cracked like dry earth. Inside, the ink is fresh. It has not faded. This is the first wrong thing. You walk. Your boots are heavy. The mud sucks at your...0 Comments 0 Shares 4 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden FarceThe rain hits the tin roof of the depot like a static charge, a relentless, metallic hiss that vibrates through the floorboards and up into the soles of your boots. You are hunched over the workbench, the blue light of the UV lamp humming a low, anxious note in the center of the room, illuminating the dust motes that dance in the stale air like trapped ghosts. In your hands, you hold the...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded AlibiThe rain had been falling for three days, a persistent and gray curtain that turned the air inside the university library’s restricted archive into a thick, humid soup of old paper and silence, and it was in this particular atmosphere of dampening decay that Dr. Elias Thorne found the letter that would unravel the careful, quiet architecture of his life. He was not looking for it, of course; he...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek