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 Wistful ShowThe sky broke open on the third day, not with rain, but with a silence so heavy it felt like a physical weight pressing against our eardrums. We were walking through the Blackfen, a stretch of moorland that smelled of wet wool and old bone, and the air had turned the color of bruised plums. My brother, Thomas, walked ahead of me, his back hunched against a wind that seemed to blow from nowhere...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden CompassThe rain had been falling for three days, a gray and relentless curtain that turned the cobblestones of the Old Quarter into slick mirrors of the sky, reflecting nothing but the damp, heavy clouds that pressed down upon the city like a lid on a jar. I walked through it, my boots heavy with sludge, my coat soaked through to the skin, feeling the chill seep into the marrow of my bones as if the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale TaleThe rain hits the roof of the delivery van. It sounds like static. You sit in the driver’s seat. The engine is off. The wipers are still. You watch a droplet trace a path down the glass. It stops. It starts again. You are holding a package. It is small. It is heavy. It hums. This is your trade. You carry things that do not belong to the air. You are a courier for the unseen. The clients pay...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden CompassThe frost cracks the pane. You feel it in your teeth. The glass is thin. It is brittle. It is failing. You are the glazier. You have the tools. You have the skill. The shop is cold. The air is sharp. It cuts your lungs. You breathe in. You breathe out. The sound is a rattle. You are old. Your hands are stiff. They do not bend right. You look at the break. It is a web. It is a spider’s trap. It...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful CipherThe sky cracked like an egg. It did not thunder. It snapped. A sound like a bone breaking, loud and dry, echoed across the valley. Then the light died. Not faded. Died. Elara stood in the orchard. Her hands were in the dirt. She was digging. Her fingers were black to the wrist. The soil was cold. It smelled of iron and old rain. Above her, the stars were wrong. They were too close. They hung...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant GhostThe soup was thick, a brown, viscous sludge that smelled of boiled roots and old iron, and it sat in the center of the table like a wound that refused to close, surrounded by the hollow faces of the men who had gathered in the basement of the abandoned textile mill, where the air hung heavy with the scent of damp wool and the unwashed bodies of those who had nowhere else to go. They did not...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale DanceThe air in the Hall of Mirrors was not merely thin, but suspended, a stale breath held by a century of silent observers who had forgotten how to exhale. Julian Thorne stood before the great convex glass, his reflection fractured into a dozen distorted selves, each one leaning in with a different shade of desperation. He was a prisoner in a gilded cage, a man whose very existence was a...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful CampusThe heavy wool coat, the one my grandfather had pressed and folded into the cedar chest before the world ended, sat on the chair like a sleeping dog, its dark green fabric rippling with a breath that did not come from me. I am twelve, or perhaps thirteen; the years have lost their shape here, stretched thin by the silence that presses against the windowpane of my apartment in the city, a city...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded ShieldThe fog rolled in from the coast. It smelled of brine and wet ash. I left my study. The door clicked shut behind me. The silence was heavy. It pressed against my eardrums. I was a scholar of antiquities. I spent my days with dead languages. I spent my nights with her. Or rather, with the memory of her. Martha. She was gone now. Three months. Three months since the train accident. Three months...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek