0 Comments
0 Shares
0 Views
0 Reviews
Directory
Discover new ideas, create new connections and make new friends
-
Please log in to like, share and comment!
-
The Pale TaleThe rain hit the cobblestones. It hissed. Steam rose from the grates. Thick. White. Smelling of coal and wet wool. Silas stood by the window. The glass fogged. He wiped it with his sleeve. The city blurred outside. Then it sharpened. The gas lamps flickered. Orange. Dim. He looked at the mirror. His face looked back. Older. Tired. The hair was grey. All of it. It had happened fast. Last year it...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded FrontierThe mud on my boots was black and slick, smelling of iron and old rain, and it had caked so thickly into the treads that I could barely feel the ground beneath me, yet here I was, standing in the middle of a field that should not have existed, a place where the sky was the color of a bruise and the grass grew in spirals that defied the wind, and I held in my hands the tattered remains of a blue...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant ClueThe feast in the great hall of Castle Aylmer was a cacophony of silver on pewter and the wet, rhythmic tearing of roasted swan, yet to Sir Caelan, the sounds seemed to arrive only after a long, muffled delay, as if he were hearing them through the thick wool of a burial shroud. He sat at the high table, his hands resting on the oak, which was scarred by centuries of elbows and spilled wine, and...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful SkylineThe chrysanthemums in the parlor vases were dying, their heads heavy and drooping like old men who had forgotten how to stand, and I watched them from the edge of the mahogany table where my father sat presiding over the dinner party with the rigid, unyielding posture of a man holding up the roof of a collapsing house. The air in the drawing room was thick with the scent of roasted turkey and...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant WoundThe train was late. The rain lashed the windows. I held the brass astrolabe. It was cold. My father’s hands had shaped it. Now it was in mine. I am Dr. Elias Thorne. I study the past. I do not believe in ghosts. Or so I told myself. The city of Oakhaven was gray. Smoke rose from the chimneys. The factories never stopped. They ground the day into dust. I stepped off the carriage. My legs felt...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded PhotographThe mud was not merely wet; it was a living, sucking thing that held the boots of Sergeant Elias Thorne in a vice, pulling at his knees with the tenacity of a jealous lover. He stood in the center of the rain-swept courtyard of the old Whitmore estate, the water drumming a frantic, staccato rhythm against the leather cap he had worn for thirty years, a uniform that had long since outlived the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful DinnerThe iron plate is cold. It has been cold for three hundred years. You sit alone in the high tower of the keep. The wind screams outside, rattling the stone shutters. You hold the plate in your lap. It is heavy. It is unbreakable. It is you. The castle is empty. The court is gone. They left at dawn. They did not look back. You are the last one standing. You are the servant. You are the witness....0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful GridThe letter lay on the damp stone of the rampart. It was written in ink that had faded to the color of dried blood. To my dearest, I write this from the edge of the world. The air here tastes of iron and old rain. The garrison is quiet. Too quiet. We are the Wardens of the Glass. You know what that means. We hold the line against the Shadow that comes from the East. But tonight, I do not fight...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded PhotographThe bus stops. You get off. You hold the photograph. It is soft now. The edges are white and fuzzy. Like snow that has melted. You bought it for a dime. In a jar. At the station. The town is small. It smells of wet leaves. And diesel. And something else. Something old. You walk down Main Street. Your boots are heavy. The mud is deep. You are tired. You have been walking for a long time. Your...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek