0 Commenti
0 condivisioni
0 Views
0 Anteprima
Elenco
Discover new ideas, create new connections and make new friends
-
Effettua l'accesso per mettere mi piace, condividere e commentare!
-
The Wistful CipherThe rain hits the pavement in a staccato rhythm. You count the drops. One. Two. Three. It is a habit. A coping mechanism for the noise inside your skull. You are standing on the corner of 4th and Main. The neon sign for the pharmacy flickers. Buzz. Click. Buzz. It looks like a dying insect trapped in glass. You are Dr. Elias Thorne. Or you were, before the committee voted. Three to two. They...0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 0 Views 0 Anteprima
-
The Distant NightmareThe rain had been falling for three days, a steady, gray curtain that turned the cobblestones of Whitehall into slick mirrors reflecting the gas lamps and the wet wool coats of the men who walked them. Thomas Bradshaw stood in the doorway of the Ministry of Internal Security, his hand resting on the cold brass of the doorframe. He was not leaving. He was staying. This was the difference, the...0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 0 Views 0 Anteprima
-
The Distant LegendThe rain fell. It did not fall. It existed. A gray curtain. Thick. Heavy. Marek stood in the mud. His boots sank. Inch by inch. The cold bit his toes. He pulled the leather strap tight. The smell of wet wool. The smell of iron. He breathed in. He breathed out. The forest was silent. No birds. No wind in the high branches. Only the drip. Drip. Drip. From the oak above. It hit his shoulder. Cold....0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 0 Views 0 Anteprima
-
The Wistful WitnessThe alarm didn't ring. It screamed. A high, thin shriek that cut through the sleep like a wire through a tomato. You were awake before the sound registered, your body moving on instinct, pulling the blanket off the bed. The apartment was dark, save for the pulsing red light from the device on the nightstand. The smoke detector. You hadn’t heard smoke. You hadn’t smelled anything but the stale,...0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 0 Views 0 Anteprima
-
The Pale FractureThe rain hit the tin roof. It was a steady, gray drumbeat. Silas sat in the corner of the cell. He did not look up. He watched his hands. They were rough. Red. Calloused. They were the hands of a man who had worked the soil. Now they were just hands. He wore a coat. It was blue. Wool. Thin. It had belonged to his father. No, not his father. It had belonged to the man who came before him. The...0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 0 Views 0 Anteprima
-
The Faded ApartmentThe rain had not stopped for three days, a relentless, gray curtain that blurred the edges of the world and turned the cobblestones of the courtyard into slick, dark mirrors. Inside the high tower of the Keep, the air was thick with the scent of wet wool and old stone, a smell that had seeped into the very marrow of Sir Elias Thorne over the forty years he had served. He sat alone in his...0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 0 Views 0 Anteprima
-
The Wistful SilenceThe train did not stop. It shuddered, a great iron beast breathing steam into the grey, and then it moved again. Thomas sat by the window. The glass was cold. His hand rested on it. He wore the uniform. The brass buttons caught the dim light. They were dull now. Tarnished. Like the skin of his face. "Thomas?" He did not turn. "Thomas, look at me." It was Sarah. She sat across from him. Her face...0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 0 Views 0 Anteprima
-
The Pale MeridianThe air in the Grand Hall of the Aethelgard Institute did not smell of dust or decay, as one might expect of a structure suspended in the void, but of ozone and burnt sugar, a cloying sweetness that coated the back of the throat and settled deep in the lungs. It was a banquet of light, a feverish convergence of prisms and hard edges, where the floor was a mosaic of shifting geometric tiles that...0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 0 Views 0 Anteprima
-
The Wistful AshesThe feast was a cacophony of clinking silver and the wet, rhythmic tearing of raw meat, a sound that had long since ceased to register as appetite in the mind of Sergeant Elias Thorne and had instead settled into his bones as a low, grinding hum of warning. We sat in the Great Hall of the Iron Spire, a structure that pierced the low, grey sky like a blackened nail driven into the flesh of the...0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 0 Views 0 Anteprima
English
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek