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 Distant TempleThe coat is blue. It is a shade of blue that does not exist in nature, a synthetic, aggressive electric hue that screams against the gray wool of the office. You have worn it for eleven years. It is thinning at the elbows, pilling into small, hard balls of fuzz that catch on the doorframes. It smells of stale coffee and the particular, metallic scent of fear that lingers in a precinct after a...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant CartographThe ink did not dry. It bled. Miles stood before the glass. The cell was cold, a cube of white tile and steel in a place that smelled of ozone and stale coffee. Outside the glass, the world had shifted. It was no longer a courtroom. It was a vast, gray plain, endless and featureless, stretching into a horizon that hummed with a low, electric thrum. "You missed a stroke," said the figure on the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant TempleThe rain did not fall so much as it materialized, a sudden, cold vapor that turned the humid air of the valley into a heavy, wet wool draped over the shoulders of the world, and I stood there, in the center of the wet cobblestones, watching the mist curl around the base of the great stone spire that rose from the earth like a broken finger pointing accusingly at the indifferent sky, and I...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden SuspectThe rain had not stopped for three days, turning the gravel driveway of the Harrow estate into a slick, brown river that reflected the dying light of the afternoon in long, trembling streaks. Elias Thorne stood in the doorway of his study, his hand resting on the heavy brass doorknob, his fingers wrapped so tightly around the metal that the knuckles had turned the color of old bone, a white...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant JourneyThe sword bites deep. You feel the cold shock of it before you hear the scream. It is a sound that does not belong to a throat. It is the sound of tearing silk, stretched thin over a bone. You pull the blade free. The wound does not bleed red. It bleeds light. A pale, sickly yellow that clings to the steel like sap. You stare at the hilt in your hand. Your grip is tight. Your knuckles are...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale FractureThe rain did not fall in Harrowgate; it accumulated. It gathered in the gutters of the black ironwork, in the hollows of the cobblestones, and in the deep, weeping crevices of the great glass dome that encased our university. I stood before the central atrium, my hands trembling not from the chill that seeped through my wool coat, but from the sheer, crushing weight of the silence. The air here...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden MythThe carriage wheels bit into the wet gravel of the lane, shaking the bones of the old scholar until his teeth chattered. It was not the cold that troubled him, though the wind off the moor cut through his wool coat like a blade. It was the weight in his satchel. Inside lay the manuscript. Not paper, not ink, but a single, pulsing vial of amber liquid. The Golden Myth. It had taken him thirty...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale TaleThe mist did not lift when I left the village of Oakhaven. It merely thickened, a grey wool drawn tight around the world, swallowing the spires of the church and the crooked fences of the farms until there was nothing left but the mud under my boots and the heavy, iron-cold weight in my satchel. I was a stranger to the place, a man who had crossed the sea on a ship that smelled of tar and...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden QuestThe air in the drying loft smelled of tannin and wet wool, a thick, cloying scent that clung to the back of the throat. Elias Thorne stood by the window, watching the rain lash against the glass, his hands trembling not from cold but from the sheer, vibrating weight of the accusation hanging over him. He was a man of precise measurements, a leatherworker who could gauge the grain of a hide to...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek