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 CipherThe banquet hall of the Royal Assay Office smelled of stale wine, roasted pork, and the metallic tang of anxiety. It was a night of high celebration, the kind where the air hangs thick with the heat of bodies and the clinking of silverware against porcelain. In the center of the chaos, Elara Vane sat with her hands folded in her lap, her fingers trembling slightly as she watched the candlelight...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful PetalThe ink on the parchment had long since faded into a bruised and silent violet, a color that seemed to hold the weight of centuries in its quiet decay, and I sat in the center of the vast and echoing library, my back pressed against the cold stone of a pillar that smelled of dust and forgotten rain, watching the light from the high, arched windows stretch and thin across the floor like a dying...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded RuinThe rain hits the glass of the detention center like a thousand tiny, angry fists. You are sitting in the holding cell. It is a concrete box, gray and damp, smelling of old sweat and industrial cleaner. You are waiting for the judge. Or perhaps the committee. In this place, the distinction has blurred. The walls are bare except for a single window high up, a slit of sky that looks like a...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden CellarThe dream came to Elara not as a vision, but as a weight. It pressed against the back of her skull, a cold, metallic thing that tasted of copper and old blood. She lay in her narrow bed, the wool blanket heavy against her skin, listening to the wind rattle the shutters of the townhouse. In the dream, she was not Elara the apothecary’s daughter, but a hollow vessel, a chalice waiting to be...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant LegendThe blade sang. It cut the air with a thin, high whine. A sound like a dying bird. Caelen’s arm ached. The weight was wrong. Too heavy. The steel was dull. It had not been sharpened in days. He stood in the square. The cobblestones were wet. Mist clung to the roots of the old oaks. The crowd was silent. They watched from the shadows. They held their breath. "Yield," said the Warden. The Warden...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale PathThe coat hangs on the back of the door, a heavy wool thing in a shade of charcoal so deep it seems to absorb the weak winter light filtering through the windowpane. You know you should not look at it, but your eyes are drawn to the fabric’s texture, the slight pilling on the shoulder where it has rubbed against the brass hook for three years, a testament to the friction of daily existence. The...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale BridgeThe ivy on the cellar wall had grown so thick it looked less like a plant and more like a living vein, pulsing with a faint, greenish light that seeped through the cracks in the stone. I had been here for three days, or perhaps three months; time had become a slippery thing, difficult to hold in the palm of the hand. My name was Julian, though I had not spoken it aloud in a long while. In this...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant CartographThe rain against the single, grimy window of the holding cell did not sound like water. It sounded like the static of a broken radio, a ceaseless, gray hiss that filled the silence where your thoughts used to be. You sat on the metal bench, your hands bound behind your back with a strip of leather that had long since worn thin, the raw edges biting into the skin of your wrists. It was a small...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale VerdictThe rain did not fall so much as it hung in the air, a suspended gray mist that turned the cobblestones of the harbor district into slick mirrors of your own fractured reflection. You stood at the edge of the pier, the damp wool of your tunic clinging to your spine, the heavy brass buttons cold against the feverish heat of your skin. It was a Tuesday, or perhaps a Wednesday; time had begun to...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek