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 Distant PromiseThe rain did not fall so much as it hung, a grey veil that suffocated the high windows of the St. Jude’s Archive. Elias Thorne stood before the glass, his breath fogging the cold pane, watching the mist erase the street below. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of decaying paper and old dust, a smell that had seeped into his skin until he could taste it on his tongue. He was not here to...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden MythThe brass key in your hand is cold. It has been cold since the moment you pulled it from the velvet pouch, a chill that seeps into the bone and refuses to leave. You stand before the door of the apartment on Blackwood Street, the iron gate humming with the low, electric vibration of the city’s night. Rain slicks the cobblestones, turning them into mirrors that reflect the gas lamps and the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale ExileThe wind in the valley did not howl; it whispered, a dry, papery sound that seemed to scrape against the skin of the earth. Elara stood at the threshold of the mill, her hands gripping the rough-hewn timber of the doorframe until her knuckles whitened. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of damp grain and the metallic tang of old iron. The mill itself was not a building of stone or brick,...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful DinnerThe glass was not merely a vessel but a fragile architecture of light, held in my trembling hand as if it were the last shard of a mirror that had once reflected a face I no longer recognized. We were seated at the long table in the dining room of the old manor, a place where the air hung heavy with the scent of beeswax and the stale, metallic tang of old secrets, and the chandelier above us...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded AlibiHe woke with the smell of wet earth in his nose. It was not a pleasant scent. It was heavy. It was old. He sat up in the chair by the window. The glass was cold against his cheek. Outside, the rain fell in long, gray sheets. The house was quiet. Too quiet. The clock on the mantel did not tick. It had stopped hours ago. Or perhaps it had never started in this dream. He looked at his hands. They...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded QuadrantThe clock on the wall had lost its rhythm. It ticked in jagged, uneven bursts, as if the mechanism inside were choking on rust. I watched the second hand shiver before it jumped. It jumped too fast, or too slow. It was hard to tell. The air in the office was cold. It smelled of wet wool and old paper. My hands were bare. The skin was tight and dry. I held the brass pocket watch. It was heavy in...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden SongThe dream began not with light, but with the smell of wet wool and the distinct, metallic tang of old blood, a scent that seemed to seep up through the floorboards of the mill office where Elara was sitting, her hands wrapped around a cup of tea that had long since gone cold, the steam long dissipated into the damp, gray air of the Highland morning. She was dreaming of her father, not as he had...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded Ruin"You are wearing the skin of a dead man, Commander." The voice was low. It scraped against the silence of the tower. Silas stood by the window. The glass was cold. It was thick. It was old. Outside, the city slept. It slept under a blanket of ash. The ash was gray. The ash was fine. It settled on everything. It settled on the rooftops. It settled on the streets. It settled on Silas’s...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful MirrorThe road was bad. Mud sucked at the wheels of the cart. Elias held the reins. His knuckles were white. He did not look back. He was going to the House of Vane. The mist was thick. It smelled of wet iron and rot. Elias was a scholar of old tongues. He knew the words. He did not know the price. In the back of the cart sat a crate. It was bound in iron bands. Inside was his daughter, Clara. She...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek