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 Wistful Throne"Look at me," the woman said. Her voice was thin, like wind through dry reeds. She stood before the glass. It was not a mirror. It was a pool of quicksilver, deep and still. The light in the room was blue. Cold. It came from no source. It just was. "You are not the queen," you said. You did not look up. You were mending a torn hem. The needle was silver. The thread was black. It sang as it...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale VerdictYou arrive at the estate of Blackwood Manor as the sun bleeds out behind the jagged ridge of the northern hills, painting the sky in shades of bruised purple and dying gold. The road is a ribbon of mud that has hardened into a grey scar, stretching back to the village where they told you the air was thin and the silence was heavy. You are the Archivist, the keeper of the old laws, and you have...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded MasqueradeThe rain against the windowpane of the archives room did not sound like water; it sounded like static, a low-frequency hum that vibrated in the fillings of Elias Thorne’s teeth. He sat at the heavy oak desk, the wood dark and slick with the dampness that seemed to seep from the very stones of the institution, a building that had no name on the outside but was known internally only as The Hall....0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded DustThe gate swung shut behind me with a groan that sounded like a dying man’s breath. I walked into the city, leaving the stone keep to stand alone against the grey sky. It was a place of silence and shadow, built to outlast the men who had raised it. I did not look back. To look back was to admit that something inside me was still tethered to the cold mortar and the iron bars. I was a soldier of...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded FrontierThe Faded Frontier Arthur Penhaligon was a man who measured the world in footnotes. As a senior research fellow at St Antony's College, Oxford, he had spent twenty-three years cataloguing the marginalia of dead diplomats—letters between ambassadors, postscripts scribbled in the margins of trade agreements, the tiny handwriting of men who had shaped borders from the safety of candlelit rooms....0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden CircuitThe wall screamed. It was a sound of tearing metal, a shriek that vibrated in the teeth. Sergeant Elias Thorne did not flinch. He held his ground in the center of the room, his boots planted on the floor of polished obsidian. The air here was thick, tasting of ozone and old blood. He had been here for three days, or perhaps three weeks. Time in the Circuit did not move in lines. It moved in...0 Comments 0 Shares 3 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded SutraThe heavy oak doors of the High Court did not creak; they groaned, a low, tectonic sound that seemed to rise from the very stone foundations of the building, a sound that Thomas heard not with his ears but in the marrow of his bones, a deep, resonant vibration that matched the frantic, terrified hammering of his heart against his ribs. He stood in the shadow of the vestibule, his hands...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded AlibiThe air inside the Aetheric Conservatory tasted of ozone and crushed violets, a sharp, metallic tang that coated the back of Elara’s throat as she pressed her hands against the vibrating glass of the containment unit. Outside, the London fog had turned into a swirling miasma of grey and violet, the industrial smoke from the chimneys of Whitechapel mingling with the supernatural residue that...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale BonsaiThe ash tree in the yard was dead. I knew it was dead before the leaves turned, before the first frost stiffened the branches into jagged fingers pointing at the gray sky. I just knew it. A cold knowledge, like the ache in a joint that predicts rain. My name is Elias Thorne, and I have been the warden of Blackwood Hollow for forty years. Or I was. The title sounds grander than it is. I am the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek