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 SagaThe rain fell on the tin roof. It drummed a steady, hollow beat. "Look at him," said Silas. He stood by the open window. The air was cold. It smelled of wet iron. "He is gone." I looked at the bird. It sat on the windowsill. Its feathers were matted. The color had drained from its plumage. It looked like a scrap of grey cloth. It had been there for three days. It did not move. It did not eat....0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful VoyageThe rain hammered against the canvas of the patrol wagon, a relentless, rhythmic drumming that seemed to vibrate in my teeth. I kept my eyes on the mud, watching the churn of the wheels, refusing to look at Silas. He sat across from me, his hands resting on his knees, fingers interlaced with a tightness that suggested he was holding himself together by sheer force of will. We were three days...0 Comments 0 Shares 4 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful AshesThe wind outside the high, narrow windows of the Abbey did not howl; it whispered, a constant, dry friction against the stone like the turning of ancient pages. Inside, the air was still and tasted of dust and dried lavender, the scent of preservation that clings to places where time has been deliberately, aggressively paused. I sat at the head of the long oak table, the wood worn smooth by the...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant JokeThe banquet hall of the Collegium of St. Jude’s was a cavernous throat of stone and shadow, echoing with the clatter of silver and the low, polyphonic hum of men who believed they were holding the universe in their hands. I sat at the long table, my fingers wrapped around a goblet of wine that tasted of iron and old oak, watching the candlelight tremble against the high, vaulted ceiling. Above...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale MistThe mud was cold. It seeped through the leather of her boots, a wet, heavy thing that clung to her ankles like the fingers of the dead. Margaret stood in the courtyard. Rain fell. It was not a storm, but a persistent, gray weeping from a sky that had forgotten how to clear. Around her, the soldiers of the King’s Guard sharpened their swords. The sound was a high, thin hiss. *Shhh. Shhh.* It...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful MountainThe rain did not fall so much as it hung in the air, a persistent, grey mist that soaked into the wool of the staff uniforms and settled deep into the bones of the men and women who worked within the stone walls of St. Jude’s Asylum for the Acute and the Forgotten. It was a place built in the late nineteenth century but which felt, in the damp and the silence, as old as the bedrock itself, a...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden CrossingThe train hissed into the station, a long, silver breath in the damp autumn air. Margaret Holloway stepped off, her boots striking the wet gravel. She was not here for the man. She was here for the mirror. The house at the end of the row waited in the gray. It was a brick box, soot-stained and silent, with windows that looked like empty eye sockets. Margaret had not seen it in twenty years, but...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful SkylineThe morning shift at St. Jude’s Federal Correctional Facility for Women began not with the clatter of steel or the barking of orders, but with the quiet, rhythmic shuffling of one hundred and forty pairs of worn canvas shoes against the concrete floor of the recitation hall, a sound that had long since ceased to be noise to Warden Elias Thorne and had instead become the ambient hum of his own...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded AtticThe door was heavy. It groaned under the weight of my hand. "Stay back," I said. My voice was low. Rough. Like gravel in a tin can. "You can't be here," a woman said. Her name was Claire. She stood in the hallway. Her face was pale. Her hands were shaking. "This is private property." I did not answer. I stepped past her. The floorboards creaked. They seemed to know my weight. They knew what I...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek