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 Distant SummerThe dream was cold. It smelled of ozone and wet slate. Elias stood on a platform that did not exist in the waking world, watching a train that had no wheels. It drifted through the fog, silent, a long black ribbon of metal and glass. He knew he should be afraid. He was not. He was only waiting. When he woke, the rain was hammering against the window of his flat in Manchester. The city outside...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden MasterThe air in the hallway is thick with the scent of beeswax and old paper, a perfume that hangs in the stagnant air like a ghost that refuses to leave. You stand before the great oak door of your father’s study, your hand hovering over the brass handle, feeling the cold metal bite into your palm. It is a Tuesday, perhaps, or a Wednesday; the days have begun to blur together in this house where...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded AtticThe air in the archive was thick with the scent of decaying vellum and iron gall, a heavy, cloying perfume that clung to the back of Silas Thorne’s throat like a physical weight. He sat hunched over the oak desk, his magnifying glass trembling slightly in his weathered hand, not from age, but from the acute, vibrating tension that had taken root in his bones three days ago. The candlelight, a...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded RootThe assessment of structural integrity for the legacy oak specimens located in Sector Four required a certification of decay that was, by all regulatory standards, imminent and irrevocable, yet Julian Vane stood before the central trunk with the peculiar, heavy stillness of a man who has already accepted his own execution and is merely waiting for the executioner to finish adjusting the rope....0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant TempleThe ironworks of St. Jude’s Hollow had a heart of soot and a soul of steam. It was a place where the air tasted of rust and wet ash, where the sky above the chimneys was perpetually bruised purple by the smoke that rolled down upon the slate roofs. In the town below, life moved to the rhythmic, grinding pulse of the machines, a ceaseless mechanical heartbeat that had long since replaced the...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant ThresholdThe ink bled through the cheap paper of the eviction notice not because the pen was wet, but because the hand holding it was trembling with a heat that had no source in the winter air, and Margaret Holloway stared at the black, spreading blotches as if they were bruises forming on her own skin, feeling the familiar, cold weight of survival pressing against her ribs while the rain hammered...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful IncenseThe ceramic bowl shatters on the linoleum of the university faculty lounge, a sound so sharp and final that it silences the low hum of the coffee machine and the murmured complaints about the grant deadlines, and in that sudden, ringing quiet you stand with your hands still raised as if you had thrown a grenade rather than a vessel, staring at the fragments of blue glaze that now map a chaotic...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale LetterThe gavel fell. It was a small sound. A dry click. Like a knuckle cracking in a silent room. Elara did not look up. She looked at the letter on the desk. It was white. Pale as bone. Pale as the winter sky outside the high windows of the Hall of Judgment. She had written it herself. Every word. Every mark of ink. “Read it,” said the High Judge. His voice was deep. It vibrated in the floor. It...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden MazeThe road is broken. You know this. The mud sucks at your boots with a wet, sucking hunger. You are walking. You have been walking for three days. The sky is a bruise, purple and swollen. It will rain. It always rains here. You carry the shield. It is heavy. It is iron. It is yours. The village is ahead. Smoke rises. Thin. Gray. It smells of burning thatch and fear. You do not run. You walk. To...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek