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 Golden QuestI woke with the taste of copper in my mouth. It was a sharp, metallic tang that lingered on my tongue like a bad penny. I sat up in the dark. My hands were shaking. I looked at them. They were small hands. They were my father’s hands. Or so it felt. The dream had left a residue. A heavy, gray film. I knew what I had to do. I knew the time. The clock on the nightstand read 4:00 AM. The town of...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale AltarThe gavel struck. It sounded like a bone snapping. I flinched. My left hand, the one with the scar, twitched in my lap. The judge looked down. He did not see me. He saw the file. He saw the charge. "Ms. Whitmore," he said. His voice was dry. Like dust. "Do you plead?" I opened my mouth. No sound came out. My throat was tight. A knot of iron. I thought of the river. The cold water. The silence...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful AtlasThe stone kept its shape. That was the only mercy in the world, the way the chapel walls stood rigid and indifferent against the gray sky while everything inside them rots or changes or breaks. Thomas stood in the center of the nave, his hands bound behind his back with strips of rough linen, feeling the cold seep through his tunic. He was a prisoner of his own making, a sinner who had tried to...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale DanceThe wind cut through the wool of his tunic. It was a cold wind, sharp as a blade. It bit at the exposed skin of his neck. He walked alone on the ridge. The path was narrow. It wound through the heather. The heather was brown. It was dry. It crunched under his boots. He held a basket in his hands. The basket was woven from willow. It was light. It was empty. Or so it seemed. He was a man of the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded RootThe fire started in the chimney flue at dawn, a silent, white-capped eruption that consumed the upper gallery of the manor before the first alarm bell could even clear its throat. I stood in the courtyard, my uniform singed at the hem, watching the oak beams twist and blacken against the pale sky, holding a piece of charred wood in my gloved hand. It was not just wood. It was a root, ancient...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful AsylumThe rain had not stopped for three days. It drummed against the high, arched windows of the Palace of Ashes, a sound like a thousand small knuckles tapping on old wood. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of wet stone and extinguished incense. Elian stood by the hearth. He was twelve, though he looked older. His coat was thin, the wool worn to threads that let the cold bite at his skin. He...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden GreenhouseThe rain did not fall so much as it was squeezed out of the sky, a relentless, gray weeping that turned the dirt road into a slurry of mud and rot. I stood there, my boots sinking to the ankle, watching the water pool around the base of the great oak where the sign had been nailed, the wood now swollen and black, the letters carved into it barely legible against the wet bark. It was a simple...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant CartographI woke with the taste of rust and old blood on my tongue, a metallic tang that coated the back of my throat like a thick, unyielding slime, and I knew immediately that the dream had not ended but had merely shifted its weight onto my waking shoulders, pressing down with the suffocating gravity of a truth I had spent three years trying to bury in the frozen earth of the Scottish Highlands. The...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale EchoThe rain had not stopped in Harrowgate for three days. It drummed a relentless, hollow rhythm against the slate roof of the station house, a sound that seeped into the marrow of Inspector Elias Thorne’s bones. He sat in the corner of the interrogation room, his hands resting on the table. They were still. Too still. The knuckles were white, the nails bitten to the quick. Across from him, a man...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek