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 FarceThe ink did not dry; it wept. It bled through the heavy, cream-colored vellum of the ledger in slow, black rivulets, pooling in the grain of the oak table like a bruise spreading beneath skin, and Silas Vane watched it happen with the detached, cold fascination of a man observing the final, inevitable decay of his own flesh, his fingers trembling not with fear but with a terrible, vibrating...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden SongThe tower stands. It does not care that your hands shake. It does not care that the iron in your blood is thinning. You stand at the base, where the stone is cold and weeping with moss. The wind howls through the battlements above, a low, continuous moan. It sounds like a dog dying in the dark. You are the Warden. This is the only title that matters now. The other names, the ones your mother...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded GuestThe cellar smelled of wet limestone and old iron, a scent that had seeped into the fibers of my coat so deeply that I believed it was part of my skin. I sat on a crate of rotted apples, my hands trembling not from the cold, but from the weight of what I held. It was a ledger, bound in cracked leather, its pages swollen with humidity. Across from me, in the dim glow of a single tallow candle,...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant GhostThe rain had not stopped for three days, a persistent, gray weeping that turned the cobblestones of the old quarter into slick, dark mirrors reflecting the gaslight of the streetlamps. I stood at the edge of the terrace, my coat heavy with damp, watching the fog roll off the river toward the city center. It was a cold that settled in the bones, the kind that made the joints ache and the mind...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful DinnerThe cellar of the Ashworth estate smelled of damp earth and the slow, sweet rot of apples left too long in the dark. Thomas Bradshaw, the youngest of the household’s servants, knelt before a shelf of wooden crates, his hands trembling as he adjusted the position of a single, bruised fruit. It was not a task assigned by his master, nor one dictated by the rigid schedules that governed the life...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded RiverThe rain did not fall so much as it was hurled against the face of the world, a cold, relentless assault that blurred the line between the earth and the sky, leaving only a grey, weeping void in which the forest of the Blackwood Ridge stood as a series of dark, jagged teeth biting into the horizon. I was kneeling in the mud, the wet earth soaking through the thick wool of my tunic, the chill...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant JokeHe woke with the taste of iron and wet earth in his mouth. The dream had been loud. Not the noise of a crowd, but the shriek of wind through a hollow tree. In the dream, he had been a boy again, standing in the orchard of his father’s farm, watching the apples fall. But they did not hit the ground. They hung in the air, suspended, turning slowly like red eyes. Then the wind came, and they...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded Portrait"You will die." The voice was not loud. It was the sound of a leaf snapping. You stood in the courtyard. The stone was cold. It seeped through your boots. You wore the tunic of a clerk. It was gray. It was dull. "Die," you repeated. The words tasted like ash. Who spoke? You turned. No one stood there. Only the wind. Only the dust. Then you saw him. He sat on the step. He was old. His face was a...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded BouquetThe dream had no ceiling, only an endless, suffocating expanse of dark green water that rose around my ankles, cold and heavy as wet wool, and in the center of this liquid void stood a single, ancient oak tree, its roots clawing into the silt, its branches bare and twisted like the fingers of a man who has been drowning for a century, and I knew, with a certainty that bypassed thought entirely,...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek