0 Yorumlar
0 hisse senetleri
3 Views
0 önizleme
Rehber
Discover new ideas, create new connections and make new friends
-
Please log in to like, share and comment!
-
The Golden DowntownThe elm tree in the center of the town square is not alive, at least not in the way that you are alive, and as you stand before it with your hands pressed against the rough, peeling bark, you feel a vibration that travels up your arms and settles in your chest, a low hum that sounds suspiciously like the breathing of a beast that has been asleep for a very long time and is now beginning to wake...0 Yorumlar 0 hisse senetleri 1 Views 0 önizleme
-
The Golden HarborThe jar sat on the table. It was thick glass, amber inside, filled with a suspension that looked like ground rust. Captain Elias Thorne stared at it. He did not blink. The air in the ward was stale, recycled, smelling of antiseptic and old wool. He was a man who had spent forty years in uniform. Now he was a man in a chair. "It’s not poison," said the woman in the corner. Her voice was dry,...0 Yorumlar 0 hisse senetleri 1 Views 0 önizleme
-
The Pale DanceThe glass shattered. Not with a crash, but with a sigh. A high, thin keen that cut the air like a wire. Eleanor stood still. Her fingers were cold. They were always cold now, in the damp stone of the hall. The shards lay on the floor. Small, bright things. Like teeth. Like stars fallen from a broken sky. She looked up. Lord Blackwood watched her. His face was a mask. Smooth. White. The wax of...0 Yorumlar 0 hisse senetleri 1 Views 0 önizleme
-
The Faded BouquetThe iron gates of the Abbey of Saint Jude groaned as they swung open, a sound like the grinding of ancient bones. You stand before them, your fingers raw from the cold, the weight of the grey wool cloak pressing down on your shoulders like a second skin. It is a garment of penance, heavy with the dampness of the moor and the scent of wet stone. You are here because you must be. The summons did...0 Yorumlar 0 hisse senetleri 1 Views 0 önizleme
-
The Faded FrontierThe banquet hall of the University of St. Jude’s smelled of roasted lamb and stale incense, a thick, cloying scent that hung in the air like a fog that refused to lift. Professor Elias Thorne sat at the head of the long oak table, his hands resting flat on the polished wood, fingers splayed wide as if trying to ground himself against the drift of the evening. The chandeliers above cast a...0 Yorumlar 0 hisse senetleri 1 Views 0 önizleme
-
The Pale DanceYou dream of the ferns. They are not in the garden. They are in the air. They are in the blood. You wake. The room is grey. The light is thin. It cuts the dust. You are still. You breathe. The breath is shallow. The breath is cold. You look at your hands. They are pale. They are your hands. They are not the hands of a god. They are the hands of a clerk. You are a clerk. You count the numbers....0 Yorumlar 0 hisse senetleri 1 Views 0 önizleme
-
The Distant BladeThe village of Oakhaven sat in the valley like a bruise, purple and swollen with the weight of its own silence. It was a place where the air tasted of wet wool and old iron, where the fog rolled in from the river every morning to swallow the fields whole. In this town, words were scarce, and when spoken, they carried the sharp edge of a blade. The people looked at the sky with the wary eyes of...0 Yorumlar 0 hisse senetleri 1 Views 0 önizleme
-
The Wistful VoyageThe steam hissed. A thin, white ribbon. It curled against the iron railing. I held my hand to the glass. It was cold. My father stood behind me. He was still. He wore his coat. It was brown. It was old. The wool had thinned. We were on the train. It moved fast. The countryside blurred. Fields of gray. Trees without leaves. The sky was low. It pressed down. We were going to the hospital. My...0 Yorumlar 0 hisse senetleri 1 Views 0 önizleme
-
The Golden MirrorThe mud was not merely dirt; it was a living, sucking mouth that held my boots fast in its cold, wet teeth, and I stood there in the gray, dripping dawn, the water running in sheets down the face of the old brick mill, while the fog rolled in from the river with the heavy, suffocating weight of a burial shroud, and I thought, with a clarity that felt like a blade sliding between my ribs, that I...0 Yorumlar 0 hisse senetleri 1 Views 0 önizleme
English
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek