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 Pale MistYou are alone. The room smells of stale coffee and wet wool. Rain hammers the windowpane. It is a small house. The walls are thin. You can hear the wind outside. It sounds like a scream. You sit in the chair. Your hands are still. They have been still for hours. They shake now. You stop them. You force them flat on the table. The clock ticks. Tick. Tick. Tick. It counts the seconds. It counts...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded RuinThe rain that morning did not fall so much as it was expelled from the sky, a grey and relentless exhalation that turned the cobblestones of the Capital District into a slick, mirror-like expanse of wet slate where the shadows of the iron lampposts stretched out like the long, thin fingers of a drowning man. Commander Elias Thorne stood at the edge of the balcony, his back to the chandelier...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful WitnessThe hall was a cavern of wax and whispered secrets, the air thick with the scent of beeswax and old roses, a perfume that seemed to hang in the stagnant warmth of the ancient vaults, where the torches burned low and the shadows stretched long and thin across the stone floor like the fingers of the dead reaching for the living. I stood in the corner, my dress a tapestry of silk and arrogance,...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful MountainThe rain did not fall so much as it hung in the air, a fine, gray mist that settled into the joints of the old stone walls and the bones of the men who stood within them. Elias Thorne stood in the center of the Grand Hall, his hands clasped behind his back, watching the water trace slow, erratic paths down the high windows. He was a man of the cloth, a tailor of exquisite reputation whose...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant LegendThe rain has been falling for three days, a steady, gray curtain that blurs the edges of the world until the landscape itself seems to dissolve into a mist of wet stone and dying leaves, and you are walking along the path that cuts through the moor, your boots heavy with mud, your breath a thin white thread in the cold air, carrying the small, iron-bound box that has been your constant...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale TaleThe fluorescent lights in the sub-basement of the Meridian Data Processing Center did not hum; they thrummed, a low, persistent vibration that seemed to originate not from the ballasts in the ceiling but from the marrow of the bones themselves, a frequency that Margaret Holloway had come to mistake for the sound of her own blood trying to circulate through the constricted vessels of a body that...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded ParadoxThe rain did not fall so much as it hung, a persistent, grey mist that clung to the cobblestones of the village square and seeped into the wool of Margaret Holloway’s skirts, a dampness that felt less like weather and more like the slow, inevitable condensation of guilt upon the skin of a woman who had mistaken her own silence for virtue. She stood before the heavy oak door of the Magistrate’s...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant GhostThe jar sat on the windowsill. It was a mason jar, filled with a thick, amber syrup. It did not taste of fruit or sugar. It tasted of the air in the room. It was the only thing in the apartment that remained static. Everything else moved. The city moved. The people moved. The accusations moved. Maren sat at the kitchen table. The wood was scratched by years of elbows and plates. She looked at...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden MirrorThe banquet hall smelled of wet wool and stale grease, a scent that clung to the back of the throat and refused to be washed away. In the center of the room, under the flickering hum of fluorescent lights that buzzed like angry insects, sat Elias Thorne. He was a large man, his shoulders broad enough to block the view of the door, and he did not move. He sat at the head of a long, scarred table...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek