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 Faded MasqueradeYou are standing in the middle of a room that does not exist, or perhaps it exists only in the spaces between the seconds, a vast, circular chamber constructed of black iron and fog. The air is thick with the scent of ozone and wet wool, a smell that has been your companion for so long that you can no longer tell where the atmosphere ends and your own skin begins. You are Sergeant Elias Thorne,...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden MythThe rain had been falling for three days, a relentless, gray sheet that turned the cobblestones of the lower city into a mirror of the sky. You sat in the narrow office of the Department of Civic Hygiene, the air thick with the smell of wet wool and old paper, and you watched the water drip from the eaves onto the street below. Your left hand lay flat on the desk, the fingers spread, the skin...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant GardenThe coat hangs on the hook. It is red. It is wrong. You look at it. You look at the door. You look at the coat again. It does not belong to you. It has always not belonged to you. But today, for the first time, it feels like a cage. "Is it warm in here?" asks Mr. Sterling. He stands by the window. He is holding a glass of whiskey. He is not drinking it. He is just holding it. His hand is...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful SagaThe train was late. Again. Elias Vance stood on the platform at Oakhaven Station. His coat was old. The wool had pilled. It smelled of damp wool and coal smoke. He watched the tracks. Nothing moved. Just the gray sky. Just the empty steel. He was fifty-two. He looked older. His hair was thinning. His hands shook. A little. Not much. Just enough. He was a detective. Or he had been. For thirty...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden SongThe mortar was fresh on Elara’s hands, white and gritty against the dark soil of the trench. She was digging. Not for roots, but for the bone beneath the mud. Above her, the sky was a bruised purple, swollen with the weight of an ancient, forgotten war. The air smelled of wet iron and rot. She was a merchant of relics, or so the town of Oakhaven claimed. In truth, she was a thief of history,...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale ExileYou wake not with a start, but with a slow, viscous settling, as if your bones are finally accepting the weight of the water that surrounds them. The dream has not ended; it has merely changed its density. In the dream, you were a vessel of pale glass, thin as an onion skin, held in the hands of a giant who smelled of wet stone and old iron. You tried to speak, but your mouth was sealed, a...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful PetalThe train that carried you from the industrial sprawl of the northern cities to the isolated, fog-drenched coast was not merely a vehicle for transit but a mechanism of erasure, a long, rattling iron worm that swallowed the daylight and exhaled it in gray, stale breaths of coal smoke and damp wool. You sat in the corner of the third-class carriage, your coat buttoned to the chin, your hands...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful PetalThe dream did not begin with light, as dreams often do, but with the smell of wet iron and the distant, rhythmic thrum of a piston engine that seemed to beat from the marrow of the earth itself. Margaret Holloway stood on the edge of a precipice that was not a cliff, but the boundary of a world she had fled twenty years prior, a world that had refused to let her go, a world that wore the face...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded AtticThe glass shattered with a sound like a bone breaking, sending a cascade of iridescent shards across the polished floor of the sealed basement where Dr. Elias Thorne had spent the last three weeks attempting to isolate the spectral residue of the late Professor Halloway. Elias did not flinch; he had long since stopped reacting to the violent manifestations of the entities they studied, but the...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek