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 Pale TaleElias left the kitchen. He did not look back. The door clicked shut with a finality that echoed in the small, brick-walled room. Outside, the air smelled of coal smoke and wet wool. It was November in Manchester. The rain fell in thin, cold sheets against the windows of the shop. He held the jar in his left hand. It was a thick glass vessel, sealed with wax. Inside, the mixture sloshed gently....0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful CipherThe rain against the window of the basement archive did not sound like rain; it sounded like the static of a dead channel, a persistent, hissing white noise that seemed to seep through the brick and settle into the marrow of Elias Thorne’s bones. He sat at the steel desk, the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead with a frequency that matched the tremor in his hands, staring at the file open...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant CartographThe ink in the well did not dry. It never had, not in the four centuries since the first scribe dipped his quill into the basin of black water that sat in the center of the Great Hall. Thomas Bradshaw stood before it, his reflection warped and stretched in the surface, a dark shape that seemed to move independently of his own breathing. The air in the Hall was thick with the scent of dried...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful IncenseThe dream comes first, as it always does, smelling of wet wool and iron, a grey fog rolling through the hallways of the old manor where the candles burn with a low, sickly hum that seems to vibrate in your teeth. You are standing in the courtyard, the stones slick with rain, and you are holding a bundle of linen that is heavy with a dampness that is not water, for it feels like breath, like the...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale LetterThe house held its breath, a hollowed-out lung in the dark, waiting for the air to be drawn back in. I sat in the library, the room smelling of dust, old varnish, and the faint, metallic tang of fear that had seeped into the floorboards. Outside, the rain lashed against the leaded glass, a rhythmic drumming that sounded like fingers tapping against a windowpane, impatient, demanding entry. On...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful SilenceThe meeting room is cold, a sterile white box suspended in the upper reaches of the administrative tower where the air is recycled so perfectly that it tastes of nothing at all, a vacuum against the lungs. You sit at the far end of the long, polished table, your posture rigid, your hands folded neatly on the mahogany surface, fingers interlaced until the knuckles turn the color of old bone....0 Comments 0 Shares 3 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant AffairThe rain fell in sheets of grey iron. It hammered the slate roof of the orphanage, a relentless drumbeat that drowned out the wind. Elias stood at the window. He was old. His hands were rough. They trembled slightly. Not from fear. From age. He watched the street below. The cobblestones glistened. Water pooled in the gutters. A single streetlamp flickered. It cast long, distorted shadows. The...0 Comments 0 Shares 3 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful IncenseThe morning air in the city of Saint Cuthbert hung thick with the scent of wet cobblestones and the faint, cloying sweetness of decay that seemed to permeate the very stone of the ancient guild halls, a smell that clung to the wool of Master Aldric’s cloak and settled deep in the creases of his face, a face that had not seen the light of a true sunrise in forty years, not since he had taken the...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant BladeThe banquet hall in the garrison of St. Jude’s, a crumbling outpost of stone and iron set deep within the fog-choked moors of the Scottish Highlands, was a cacophony of clinking silver and muffled laughter, yet Captain Elias Thorne sat in the corner, his eyes fixed upon the heavy oak table as if it were a battlefield awaiting an order that would never come. The air was thick with the scent of...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek