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 Faded PortraitThe rain had not stopped for three days. It drummed against the high windows of the manor house, a relentless, hollow percussion that seemed to vibrate in my teeth. I sat alone in the study, the fire dying to embers. The air smelled of wet wool and old paper. My hands rested on the armrests, trembling slightly. Not from cold. From the weight of the silence. I was a man of the law, or had been,...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded QuadrantThe snow falls in sheets. Gray. Thick. It blots out the world. You are standing on the platform. The train is here. It is late. The steam hisses. It smells of coal. It smells of wet wool. You grip your bag. Your hands shake. Not from cold. From fear. You are a man of the law. A constable. You wear the gray coat. You wear the cap. The wool is itchy. It chafes your neck. You have worn it for ten...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden MazeYou are walking. The path is narrow. The grass is high. It touches your knees. You do not look down. You look at the sky. The sky is gray. The wind is cold. It cuts your face. You feel it. You are old. Your joints ache. Your lungs burn. You breathe in. You breathe out. The rhythm is slow. It is steady. You are a scholar. You have spent your life in libraries. You have smelled dust and old...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden EchoesThe rain in Seattle does not fall so much as it insists, a persistent, gray argument against the glass of the windshield, blurring the world into a smear of neon and asphalt as you drive toward the estate sale in Ballard. You are not supposed to be here. You are supposed to be in the office, staring at the quarterly projections for the firm, a junior analyst whose life is measured in billable...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful ThroneYou are standing in the center of the room, which is not a room but a pressurized chamber of polished steel and vibrating glass, suspended in the absolute silence of a night that has forgotten how to breathe, and you are holding a ceramic bowl that feels heavier than physics should allow it to be, a bowl that contains a soup of such profound, impossible clarity that you can see the bottom of...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful SkylineThe morning the sky turned the color of a bruised plum, Elara Vane did not look up, but rather down, into the soot-stained heart of her workshop where the air hung heavy with the scent of ozone and burnt sugar, a thick, cloying atmosphere that seemed to press against her temples with the weight of unseen hands, forcing her to remain hunched over the workbench as though the very act of looking...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant GhostThe feast was loud. It was too loud. The plates clattered. The wine spilled. I watched it drip on the stone. It looked like blood. Then it looked like wine. I did not care. I only cared about the boundary. The thin line in the air. It hummed. It vibrated. It was the only real thing in the room. My name is Elara. I am the keeper. Or so they say. I am not a keeper. I am a prisoner. The walls are...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant ThresholdThe banquet hall did not smell of roast goose or spiced wine, but of wet loam and the metallic tang of stagnant rain, a scent that clung to the back of Silas Vane’s throat like a second skin, thick and suffocating as he stood amidst the throng of guests who moved with the disjointed, jerky grace of marionettes whose strings had been cut and reattached to invisible, chaotic anchors. He was a man...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale AltarThe rain did not fall so much as it was expelled from the sky, a relentless, grey curtain that blurred the sharp angles of the city into a smear of wet stone and iron. It was the kind of morning that made the air taste of rust and old pennies, a flavor that clung to the back of the throat and refused to be washed away by the tepid water of the basin. Inside the cramped, windowless office on the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek