0 Comments
0 Shares
4 Views
0 Reviews
Directory
Discover new ideas, create new connections and make new friends
-
Please log in to like, share and comment!
-
The Wistful CrossroadsThe wine was red as a fresh wound. It pooled in the crystal goblets, trembling under the chandelier’s heavy, golden gaze. I watched it. I watched the light break on the surface, fracturing into a thousand tiny, sharp shards. Like glass. Like the world. The banquet hall was a cavern of noise and silk. Lords and ladies moved in slow, liquid circles. They spoke of grain yields and border disputes....0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant JourneyThe server died at 4:14 a.m. A red light blinked. A single, rhythmic pulse in the dark room. It was the heartbeat of a dying god. Elias Thorne did not sleep. He watched the light. It was the only truth left. The air in the basement server room was cold. It tasted of ozone and stale dust. The fans spun. They slowed. The speed dropped. The data was dying. Elias was a man of code. He was a man of...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale BridgeThe glass was cold. It bit into my palm. I held it tight. The factory floor shook. A low hum. It lived in the walls. It lived in my teeth. I am a guard. That is all I am. I stand. I watch. The clock ticks. One second. Two seconds. The glass in my hand is cracked. A hairline fracture. It spreads. Like a vein. Like a scar. My name is Arthur. I wear the gray coat. It is heavy. It is wet. The rain...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful SilenceThe bell in the town square did not ring for the dead, but for the living, a hollow, iron-throated sound that seemed to crack the air in half. Thomas Bradshaw stood before the Guild Hall, his hands trembling not from the chill of the autumn morning but from the sheer, crushing weight of the silence that had gathered behind him. He was a man of the leather and the stitch, a craftsman whose...0 Comments 0 Shares 3 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant JokeThe rain was coming in sideways, cutting through the dry-rotted shutters of the keep, and I was already bleeding from a gash above my left eye when the first word hit me. It was not a sound, exactly, but a vibration in the marrow of my jaw, a low hum that resonated in the hollow of my chest. I held the iron key tightly in my right hand, my knuckles white, the metal biting into my skin. The air...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden DowntownThe castle does not breathe, you tell yourself, as you stand before the high, narrow windows of the Great Hall, watching the mist curl off the river below like the ghost of a ship that never docked. It is stone and timber and old, dry air. It is the seat of the Lord of Ashworth, a man whose name is spoken in the village with a reverence that feels more like fear than love, and whose power is as...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale Path"The moth is dead, Elias." I looked up from the ledger. The ink was still wet, a black pool in the center of the page. Outside, the wind howled against the stone of the Keep. It was a cold that bit through wool and bone. "Dead?" I asked. My voice sounded thin in the great hall. "Crushed beneath the weight of the law," said Master Silas. He stood by the hearth, his back to me. He was a tall man,...0 Comments 0 Shares 3 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale ExileThe city of Oakhaven did not sleep, but rather it breathed, a slow, rattling respiration of steam and soot that permeated every stone and shadow. It was an ancient metropolis, though its age was not measured in years but in the weight of its secrets, a labyrinth of cobblestones where the light from the gas lamps struggled against the perpetual twilight. In this grey expanse, Elara Vance moved...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale DoorThe rain fell in sheets of grey iron, drumming against the tin roof of the outpost. It was a cold that bit into the bones, a wet, industrial chill that clung to the wool of Sergeant Elias Thorne’s uniform. He stood at the edge of the treeline, his rifle slung low across his back, watching the fog roll off the valley. The village of Oakhaven lay below, half-swallowed by the mist. Smoke rose from...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek