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 EchoesThe house smelled of wet wool and dried lavender, a scent that had seeped into the plaster over thirty years, becoming indistinguishable from the air itself. I remember the weight of the silver locket in my pocket, the cold metal biting into my palm as I sat on the edge of the bed in the guest room, watching my mother pack her things. It was a Tuesday in November, the kind of day where the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded GuestThe bell tower of St. Jude’s did not ring on the morning the sky cracked open. It was a sound like tearing silk, a high, thin shriek that pulled the fabric of the morning apart to reveal a void beneath, a starless dark that breathed with cold, indifferent hunger. I was twelve years old, standing in the courtyard with my hands tucked into the pockets of my woolen coat, watching the stone masonry...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale MeridianThe soup was thin, a translucent amber that caught the flickering gaslight and turned it into a sickly, bruised gold, and Margot stirred it with a spoon that had been polished so often by her own trembling hands that the metal had lost its sheen, becoming a dull, matte thing that absorbed the light rather than reflecting it, while the steam rose in wisps that smelled of boiled cabbage and old...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant Journey"You will submit the inventory by noon." The voice was thin. It sliced the air. You sat at the desk. The wood was cold. Your fingers trembled. Not from fear. From cold. The house was always cold. "You hear me?" "I hear you, sir." Dr. Hale stood in the doorway. His shadow fell across you. It was long. It was black. He looked at the pile of books. He looked at the dust. He looked at you. "Your...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale MistThe rain in Chicago did not wash the city clean; it merely made the grime slicker, turning the grey concrete of the South Side into a mirror that reflected a world too large and too indifferent to care. Inside the cramped, windowless office of the Department of Urban Resilience, Elias Thorne sat with his hands folded in his lap, the leather of his gloves creaking softly against the silence. He...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded RuinThe air in Sector Four tasted of ozone and crushed mint, a sterile cocktail that the ventilation systems pumped into our lungs every three seconds, a rhythmic pulse that synchronized our heartbeats to the hum of the servers. I was mid-sprint, my boots striking the polished obsidian floor with a cadence that matched the frantic beeping of the alert system, the red lights strobing across the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant ThresholdYou stand in the center of the rotunda. The floor is cold marble. It reflects your face, but the reflection is wrong. It lags. It bleeds. You are a detective. Or you were. The badge is heavy on your chest. It feels like a stone. A paperweight. The air is thick. It tastes of ozone and old copper. This is the Ministry. Not a building. A state. A mind. "Officer," a voice says. It comes from...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant TempleThe bell tower shook. Dust rained from the vaulted ceiling, choking the air with the scent of ancient stone and decay. I stood there, small against the vastness of the nave, my hands trembling. The Master stood above me, his face a mask of stone-cold judgment. "You have failed," he said. His voice was not loud, but it carried the weight of centuries. It pressed against my chest, a physical...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful ThroneThe rain fell in sheets. Grey. Cold. It hammered the pavement of the old district, blurring the neon signs into streaks of red and blue. Elias stood on the corner. He held the box. It was heavy. Heavier than lead. Heavier than sin. His hands shook. Not from the cold. From the weight. He was old now. The bones in his fingers were knotted. Like driftwood. Like roots. They ached when it rained....0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek