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 Golden MasterThe house breathed. It was a slow, wet sound. Like lungs filling with silt. Elias woke to it. The air was thick. He could taste iron. He sat up. The mattress was cold. The sheets were damp. A thin film of water coated his skin. It smelled of rust and old paper. The room was dark. But not empty. On the desk, a single book lay open. The pages were blank. No words. No ink. Just white, empty space....0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful WitnessThe banquet hall of the Whitmore estate smelled of roasting pheasant and damp wool, a thick, cloying mixture that hung in the air like a fog that refused to lift. Colonel Arthur Whitmore stood at the head of the long mahogany table, his face a mask of rigid propriety, while his hands, hidden beneath the crisp white cuffs of his uniform, trembled with a violence that no amount of polished...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful SagaThe frost bit at the glass. I pressed my forehead against the cold pane. The breath I exhaled was a ghost, thin and white, vanishing before it could touch the wood. Inside, the silence was heavy. It had weight. It pressed against my ribs. I checked the time. 0400. The shift was beginning. My name is Elias Thorne. I am a senior patrol officer in the town of Oakhaven. Or I was. The past tense is...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden SongThe iron bit in his mouth tasted of rust and old blood. Elias held the reins tight, his knuckles white against the leather, while the stallion beneath him bucked and snorted, steam rising from its flanks in the freezing air. They were at the edge of the tree line, where the mist from the valley floor clung to the branches like wet wool. He was not hunting deer. He was hunting a feeling. A...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale FractureThe banquet hall in the settlement of Oakhaven did not smell of roast beef or wine, but of ozone and the metallic tang of processed air, a scent that permeated the synthetic velvet drapes and clung to the skin like a second, invisible coat. It was the annual Feast of Compliance, a ritual where the populace gathered to witness the calibration of the Central Ledger, the digital architecture that...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant GhostThe road was wet. Cold. It slicked the stone beneath Wren’s boots. He walked. His sister, Elara, walked beside him. Her hand was small in his. She did not speak. She never did. The mist clung to the valley. It tasted of iron. Of old blood. They were going up. Up to the peak. Up to the altar. The village lay below. Silent. Dead. The bells had not rung in three days. The priest, Father Malachi,...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful MirrorThe mirror in the east wing did not reflect the room. Mara knew this before she entered. She had seen it in the morning light. A smudge of glass that refused to hold her shape. The office was quiet. Dust motes danced in the beam. She sat at her desk. The wood was cold. Her name was Mara Vance. She was a clerk. She processed forms. She filed reports. She was no one. The building was the Ministry...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful MirrorThe rain had been falling on the roof of the precinct for three days, a persistent, grey drumming that seemed to synchronize with the slow ticking of the clock in the captain’s office. I sat in the leather chair, the kind that creaked under the weight of a man who had forgotten how to rest, and watched the water streak the windowpane. It was a blurring of the world outside, turning the brick...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden MythYou have been polishing the brass nameplate for three hours. It is not a difficult task, but it is a precise one, and your fingers, stiff from the November chill that has settled into the bones of this city, tremble with a fatigue that has nothing to do with the physical effort. The plate reads *E. VANCE, ARCHITECT*. You are Edward. You have been Edward for fifty years, or at least as long as...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek