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 CampusThe train slowed to a crawl as it crossed the bridge over the muddy river, the rhythmic clacking of the wheels on the tracks slowing to a stutter before falling silent, leaving Eleanor Vane sitting in the window seat with her back pressed against the cold glass, watching the town of Harrow Creek materialize from the grey November mist like a ghost that refused to fully dissipate. She had...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale MeridianThe key was brass. It was heavy in the pocket of his grey suit. It had been there since Tuesday, or perhaps it was still Monday. The days had blurred into a single, grey smear of waiting. Elias sat on the bench outside the library. The wood was cold. It bit through his trousers. He did not move. He stared at the door. The door was glass. Behind the glass, the shelves stood like silent...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful MirrorThe bell in the tower of St. Jude’s had been silent for three days. It was a heavy, iron thing, older than the parish itself, and its silence was not merely an absence of sound but a presence, a thick, gray fog that settled into the marrow of the town. Elias Thorne stood in the belfry, his hands wrapped around the cold iron of the rope, his knuckles white. He was a man of seventy years, his...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden MazeThe coat is red. It is not a deep crimson, but the bright, alarming red of a stop sign. It is a wool blend, thinning at the elbows. You wear it because it is the only thing that fits. You wear it because it is yours. You are in the house. The house is white. The paint is peeling in the hall. The floorboards creak under your boots. You are a detective. You investigate the missing money. The...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale DanceThe feast was a sprawl of silver and grease, a testament to the Duke’s vanity more than his generosity. Elara sat at the far end of the long table, her fingers stained with the juice of roasted pheasants, watching the light catch the edge of a gold chalice. The air in the great hall was thick, suffocating, heavy with the scent of burning tallow and the metallic tang of old blood that seemed to...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded PortraitThe cold bit into Elias’s knuckles. He rubbed them together. The pain was sharp. A good pain. It meant he was still there. Still alive. He sat in the stone cell. The walls were damp. Moss grew in the cracks. It looked like green veins. Elias watched a single drop of water fall. It hit the floor. A small splash. Silence followed. He was the inquisitor. Not a soldier. A man of the book. He wore...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale ShadowsThe ink was not merely wet on the parchment; it was alive, a black sludge that pulsed against my quill like a failing heart. I was not writing history, as I had sworn to the Magister, but rather a confession, a desperate, scribbled map of my own unraveling. The candle in the iron sconce burned low, its flame trembling in the draft that swept through the high, vaulted windows of the university...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant ThresholdThe feast is not for the dead. It is for the living who have forgotten how to breathe. You sit at the long table in the hall of the Ashworth estate, the wood polished to a glassy sheen by generations of anxious hands. The air smells of roasted pheasant and damp wool. You are eight years old. You wear a coat of heavy grey wool, cut tight at the shoulders. It is not just clothing. It is your...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful LetterThe ivy ate the house. It started at the roots and climbed. My husband, Arthur, loved it. He said it was keeping us alive. I said it was killing us. He smiled. He always smiled. The smile was wide. It showed his teeth. They were yellow. They were crooked. He did not care. He loved the green. He loved the dark. He loved the way the leaves whispered. I heard them. I heard them all night. They...0 Comments 0 Shares 3 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek