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 Golden GreenhouseThe ink on the letter had dried before Margaret set it down, but the stain on her mind remained wet. It was a deep, bruised purple, spreading under the skin of her awareness. She stood in the center of the archive room, surrounded by the silent dust of forty years. The air smelled of decaying paper and the faint, metallic tang of fear. Her husband, Arthur, was waiting in the car outside. He had...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful SagaThe fire did not start with a spark, but with a sigh, a long, exhalation of heat that seemed to rise from the very stones of the house, turning the air in the great hall into a thick, shimmering curtain that distorted the faces of those who stood before it. I watched the flames lick up the legs of the oak table where my father had broken his bread for thirty years, and I felt no fear, only a...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded MasqueradeThe ink is dry. You know this because you have touched it with a finger that has not washed in three days, and the residue is gritty, like the dust of old stone. You are sitting in the corner of the King’s library, a room so vast that the silence inside it has weight, pressing against your eardrums until they ring with a high, thin frequency. You are a scribe. That is the technical term for...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden RitualThe rain did not fall. It was driven. It hammered against the iron plates of Sir Cillian’s armor, a relentless, rhythmic drumming that drowned out the sound of his own breathing. He stood in the center of the courtyard, the wet cobblestones slick under his boots, and he felt the weight of the gold around his neck. It was heavy. Not physically, though it pulled at his clavicles, but spiritually....0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded PhotographThe dream began not with light, but with the sound of a bell, a heavy, iron-tongued clang that vibrated through the floorboards of a room that did not exist in the waking world. Thomas stood in the center of a vast, circular hall, the air thick with the scent of ozone and wet wool. The walls were lined with shelves that stretched up into a darkness so profound it seemed to swallow the faint,...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale MeridianThe rain had been falling for three days without ceasing, a cold, relentless sheet of grey water that turned the world outside the window of the holding cell into a blurred, indistinct smear of mud and stone, and Thomas Whitmore sat in the center of the concrete floor, his back against the cold wall, holding the small, oil-cloth-wrapped bundle in his hands as if it were a newborn child, his...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale TaleThe fog was thick as wool. It pressed against the windowpane, a grey, suffocating blanket that muffled the sounds of the city below. You stood there, hands clasped behind your back, watching the wipers of a passing carriage slice through the murk. They moved with a mechanical, rhythmic persistence, clearing only to be clouded again by the damp. It was a cycle you knew well. You were a scholar...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful CampusThe great hall of the Abbey of St. Jude did not smell of decay, as one might expect of a place abandoned by God and man alike, but rather of stale incense, wet stone, and the metallic tang of old blood that had seeped into the very mortar of the walls, a scent that clung to the back of Elias Thorne’s throat like a second skin, reminding him with every breath of the exile he had carried within...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden ScarThe train hissed into the station of Oakhaven, a place that smelled of wet wool and rust. Elias Thorne stepped onto the platform. His coat was heavy. The air was cold. He held a leather satchel against his chest. Inside was the ledger. It was the only thing that mattered. The other passengers looked away. They saw a man. They did not see the burden. He walked to the Ministry of Reconciliation....0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek