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 Show"You have no right to wear that cloak," the magistrate’s scribe said, his voice thin and reedy as a winter wind threading through the gaps in the stone wall, "for it bears the seal of the Crown, and you are nothing but a beggar who has stolen the sun from the sky to keep your bones from freezing." You stand there, in the center of the damp, echoing hall of the city square, the cobblestones...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant WhispersThe fire in the great hall of the keep was low, a dying ember of orange light that painted the stone walls in shades of rust and shadow. We had eaten well, the food heavy and rich, but the taste had turned to ash in my mouth before the second course was cleared. I sat beside Elias, my wife, whose hand rested coolly against my forearm. She was beautiful in the dimness, her hair unbound, falling...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful AsylumThe stone bit into your cheek. Cold. Damp. Real. You are Marcus. You are a guard. You are here because you said yes. You did not say yes to this. You said yes to the order. You said yes to the chain. Now the chain is around your throat. The cell is small. It is a box. The box is made of black rock. The rock is wet. It smells of rot. It smells of old blood. You can taste it. It is on your...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale GardenThe rain did not fall so much as it was exhaled by the sky, a thick, gray miasma that pressed against the high, barred windows of the St. Jude’s Correctional Facility for the Criminally Insane, a place where the air tasted perpetually of wet wool and old blood. Captain Elias Thorne stood in the center of the ward, his uniform soaked through to the skin, the fabric clinging to his shoulders like...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale ProtocolThe ink is still wet on this page, a dark and spreading stain that mirrors the bruise forming along my left temple, a physical testament to the fact that I have failed again, that I have allowed the boundary to bleed into the flesh, and I am writing this because I am terrified that by morning I will not remember my own name, only the shape of the silence that waits for me in the cellar. You...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant AffairThe train left at dawn. Miles stood on the platform. He did not look back. He held a ticket in his left hand. It was damp. His right hand hung by his side. It trembled. The station was gray. Iron and stone. Steam hissed from the tracks. It smelled of coal and rust. The air was cold. It cut through his coat. He wore a wool suit. It was old. The elbows were worn thin. He was a prisoner. Not of...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded PhotographThe coat is too big for you. That is the first thing you notice, the way the sleeves hang past your knuckles like dead vines, the way the collar, stiff with old sweat and new rain, cuts into your neck. It belongs to Arthur. Or rather, it belonged to him, before the fever took him, before the town council decided that the water table was poisoned, before they started selling off the houses to...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale TaleThe shrapnel hit the skylight three seconds before the blast. I did not hear the explosion so much as feel it, a sudden, violent unmaking of the air around me. One moment I was hunched over the drafting table, my pencil poised above the schematic for the new municipal water treatment plant; the next, I was suspended in a void of white noise and flying glass. The ceiling of the office, a grid of...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful ThroneThe rain in the city did not fall; it hung. It was a gray, suspended mist that turned the glass towers into blurred ghosts and the wet pavement into a black mirror reflecting nothing. Sergeant Elias Thorne stood on the corner of 4th and Main, his hand resting on the cold iron of his baton. He watched a pigeon fight the wind against the brick face of the bank. The bird was small, brown, and...0 Comments 0 Shares 5 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek