0 Comments
0 Shares
0 Views
0 Reviews
Directory
Discover new ideas, create new connections and make new friends
-
Please log in to like, share and comment!
-
The Wistful AshesThe train to the Northern District was a rattling beast of rust and steam, clattering over the iron tracks like a coffin lid banging against a hearse. Elias Vane sat with his hands folded in his lap, knuckles white, watching the gray fields blur past the soot-stained glass. He was a man carved from stone and silence, a detective for the Bureau of Civic Order, an institution that did not merely...0 Comments 0 Shares 3 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale TaleThe rain hits the glass. It stutters. It stops. You sit in the chair. The wood creaks. It is a small office. The walls are thin. The air is cold. You are the investigator. You hold the object. It is a key. It is brass. It is old. It is worn. The edges are smooth. You turn it over. You look at the teeth. They are chipped. You know why. You have held it for years. You have turned it in your hand....0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded MasqueradeThe ash fell like snow in the city of Oakhaven, a fine, grey powder that settled on the cobblestones and coated the lungs of the dead. It was a Tuesday, or perhaps a Wednesday; the calendar had lost its meaning when the sky turned the color of bruised iron. Elias Thorne stood on the roof of the apothecary, watching the smoke rise in thick, curling columns from the district of the weavers. He...0 Comments 0 Shares 4 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden RitualThe bell in the tower of Saint Jude’s does not ring; it groans, a low, tectonic vibration that you feel in your teeth before you hear it in your ears. You are standing at the edge of the precipice, the wind here not a breeze but a living thing, a cold hand pressing against your chest, trying to push you back into the world of men. Below, the village of Ashworth sleeps beneath a quilt of fog so...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale CircusThe frost had eaten the world down to its bones before I woke, leaving only the white, silent architecture of the cabin and the heavy, wet breath of the dog at my feet. I sat up, the wood creaking under the weight of my old joints, and looked at Eleanor. She was sleeping, her face turned away from the window, her skin pale as the snow that pressed against the glass. I had been a scholar of...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded BouquetThe car shudders as it crests the hill, the wipers slashing a rhythmic arc against the wet glass. You are driving. The wheel is slick with your own sweat, cold and clammy. Inside the cabin, the air is thick with the scent of old wool and something metallic, like blood on a tongue. This is the scent of the Coat. It has been with you for thirty years, stitched into the lining of your days, woven...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant TempleThe road was wet. Mud sucked at my boots. I walked. The sky was grey. I carried the book. It was heavy. Leather bound. Old. I am a scholar. I study texts. I read them. I understand them. I think. I write. I am small. The world is big. The castle is there. Black stone. Towers high. They look down. They judge. I am going up. My legs hurt. My back aches. I must go. I must show them. The book is...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant JokeThe air in the Hall of Whispers smelled of damp wool and old iron. It was a cold smell, the kind that settled in the lungs and refused to leave. Silas sat alone in the corner of the refectory. His hands were folded on the table. They were large hands, rough as river stone, but they trembled slightly. On the table before him lay a small clay bowl. Inside, a white paste swirled slowly, like milk...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded RiverThe iron gate did not clank, for it had not moved in a century, yet to my ears it roared like a sea breaking against a cliff face. "You hear it, do you, Thomas?" I did not turn to look at him. I could not. To turn was to admit that the air behind me was not empty, that the silence was not merely the absence of sound but a presence, thick and viscous as tar. I kept my eyes fixed on the moss that...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek