0 Comments
0 Shares
3 Views
0 Reviews
Directory
Discover new ideas, create new connections and make new friends
-
Please log in to like, share and comment!
-
The Pale DoorThe bell rang at dawn. It was not a church bell. It was the iron clapper of the mill, shattering the mist. Maren stopped. She held the bowl. It was heavy. Lead. Black. Inside, the porridge steamed. Thick. Grey. It looked like mud. It smelled like iron. It smelled like blood. She did not look down. She looked ahead. The road was wet. The sky was white. "You are late," said the voice. It was not...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant ClueThe rain stopped. You stood on the platform. The train was gone. You held the stone. It was cold. It was smooth. It was heavy. You had left everything else behind. The house. The name. The past. You were here now. In the Gray. The air tasted of metal. It tasted of ozone. It smelled like old libraries. And wet stone. You walked. The path was straight. It led to the Spire. The Spire was black. It...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded RuinYou wake in the dark. The air is thick. It smells of ozone and wet stone. You are in a room. It is small. The walls are close. They press in. You remember your name. Elias Thorne. You are a clockmaker. Or you were. Now you are a prisoner. Or a guest. The distinction is lost. You lie on the floor. Your back aches. The pain is sharp. It is a good pain. It is real. The door opens. Light floods in....0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful PetalThe house did not merely stand at the end of the lane; it hovered, a vast and bruised architecture of stone and shadow that seemed to breathe with a slow, tectonic rhythm, its foundations sinking imperceptibly into the wet earth as if the ground itself were tired of holding it up, and I, standing in the kitchen with my small hands gripping the cold iron handle of the door, understood that the...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful DinnerThe air in the great hall of the Whitehall Palace, a structure that seemed to exist in a perpetual state of twilight between the gaslit age and the steam-driven future, was thick with the scent of roasted pheasant and the metallic tang of old gold, and I stood before the High Chancellor, my uniform immaculate yet feeling as though it were made of wet sand, my hands trembling not from the cold...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant LegendThe glass cracked. It was a small fracture. A hairline. But it ran through the center. Elias looked at it. He held the lens up to the light. The room was cold. The steam from the pipes hissed. It sounded like a snake. "Is it broken?" asked Thomas. Elias did not answer. He turned the lens. The crack caught the light. It split the beam. Two shadows. One for each side of the glass. "It is," Elias...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded ApartmentYou are walking, and you have always been walking, through a corridor of air that tastes of copper and old rain, the floor beneath your feet not stone or wood but a shifting, viscous grey that ripples with your every step, and the walls are made of memory, translucent and fragile, showing you the faces of those who have passed before you, their mouths open in silent screams or soft whispers,...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale LetterThe rain did not fall so much as it invaded the city of New Carthage, a gray, viscous curtain that turned the glass towers into blurred ghosts of their former selves, and inside the sterile white apartment on the fourteenth floor, Elias Thorne sat on the edge of his unmade bed, staring at the small, sealed envelope resting on the nightstand like a dead insect, his hands trembling not with cold...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded QuadrantThe feast had been going on for three days, a relentless, rotting sweetness that filled the stone halls of Blackwood Keep with the cloying scent of overripe apples, stale wine, and the heavy, musky odor of too many bodies pressed together in the drafty great hall. Sir Alistair Thorne stood near the hearth, his hands wrapped around a goblet of dark red ale that had gone warm and flat, watching...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek