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 rain did not fall so much as it hovered, a suspended grey mist that clung to the wool of Elias Thorne’s coat and seeped into the marrow of his left hand, that hand which had been, for three decades, the sole conduit of his genius and the singular instrument of his exile. He stood at the edge of the moor, a landscape that seemed less like a place on a map and more like a bruise on the skin...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful SkylineThe soup was warm, a thick, orange-red liquid that swirled in the ceramic bowl like a miniature sunset trapped in clay. I held it with both hands, the heat seeping into my palms, a small, fierce comfort against the chill of the room. My father sat across from me at the long, scarred oak table, his face obscured by the blue haze of his pipe smoke. He did not look up. He rarely looked up. We were...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded ApartmentThe banquet had been a symphony of excess, a cacophony of clinking crystal and the low, thrumming bass of conversation that seemed to vibrate through the floorboards of the high-rise apartment in Chicago. Margaret Holloway stood by the wet bar, her fingers wrapped tightly around a glass of white wine she had not taken a sip from in twenty minutes, her knuckles white against the cold...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded RootThe dust in the sub-basement of the St. Jude’s Municipal Archive did not merely settle; it hung in the air like a suspended, grey breath, a particulate fog that clung to the lungs and the conscience in equal measure. Arthur Vane, a man whose intellect had once been a sharp, gleaming blade in the cutlery drawer of the university faculty, now moved through this repository of forgotten municipal...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale TowerThe steam hissed through the pipes of the Northgate Penitentiary, a constant, rattling breath that seemed to vibrate in the marrow of my bones. I stood at the top of the observation tower, my breath fogging in the thin, industrial air, watching the courtyard below where the men moved in their slow, grey procession. For three years, I had been the eyes of the institution, a silent sentinel whose...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful IncenseThe bell did not ring; it screamed. It was a jagged, metallic shriek that tore through the damp, fog-choked air of the city, a sound that seemed to vibrate in the marrow of the stone. In the underbelly of the old administrative district, where the cobblestones were slick with centuries of grime and the light was a perpetual, bruised twilight, Elias Thorne stood before the High Warden. He did...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden CellarThe frost on the windowpane was not a pattern, but a cage. You knew this because you had traced it with a fingernail, feeling the brittle give of the ice, knowing that if you pressed too hard, the whole pane would shatter and let the winter in. The cellar door was locked. It had always been locked, a heavy oak slab banded with iron, sitting in the corner of your father’s study like a sleeping...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded PhotographThe bell in the steeple of St. Jude’s did not ring to mark the hour, but to mark the breaking. It was a dull, heavy bronze sound that seemed to seep into the marrow of your bones, vibrating through the floorboards of the library where you sat, your hands trembling around a cup of tea that had long since gone cold. Outside, the town of Oakhaven lay under a shroud of mist, the cobblestones slick...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded SutraThe dream is always the same. I am standing in a field of grey ash. The sky is the color of a bruised plum. I am holding a rifle. The stock is smooth under my cheek. It is warm. I fire. The sound is a crack, sharp and clean. No one is there. I am alone. The ash swirls up around my boots. I wake up in the cell. The light is thin. It cuts through the slats in the window. It lands on the floor. It...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek