0 Comments
0 Shares
1 Views
0 Reviews
Directory
Discover new ideas, create new connections and make new friends
-
Please log in to like, share and comment!
-
The Golden CellarThe rain fell on the village of Oakhaven like a gray shroud, soaking into the cobblestones and the wet wool of your coat as you stood at the edge of the market square, watching the carriage of your brother, Thomas, rattle away into the mist. You had not spoken to him in three days, and the silence between you was heavier than the stone walls of the house you had just left, a house that smelled...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden MythThe alarm in my wrist unit buzzed, a low, subsonic thrum that vibrated through the bone of my radius before it ever registered in my auditory cortex, and I woke with the taste of copper and static electricity on my tongue, the air in the dormitory thick with the scent of ozone and the faint, sweet rot of overripe fruit from the hydroponic trays in the adjacent sector. It was 0400 hours, the...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden MasterThe bell tower rang at dusk. It was a low, bronze groan that rolled across the slate roofs of Ashworth and settled in the marrow of my bones. I stood on the edge of the parapet, my hands trembling not from cold, but from the weight of the silence I had just broken. Below, the city sprawled in a grid of amber light. It was a beautiful, indifferent machine. And I was its engine. They called us...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale AltarThe bell rang. Not a church bell. A factory bell. Iron on iron. A shriek that split the morning air in the valley of Ashworth. Marta ran. Her boots clattered on the cobblestones. Wet. Cold. The mist clung to her shins. She wore the coat. The long, heavy wool coat. It was gray. Like the smoke. Like the sky. Like the eyes of the men who watched her. She ran past the bakery. Past the butcher. Past...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale VerdictThe ledger of my sins was not written in ink, but in the rusted iron bars that separated my cell from the world beyond, a boundary I had spent the last decade seeking to breach not for freedom, but for the proximity of the man who had condemned me. I was Margaret Ashworth, and I had spent my life chasing the pale line of light that fell through the high, narrow window of my chamber, a sliver of...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale ExileThe wind did not howl at the gates of Ashworth Hall so much as it scraped, a dull and persistent friction against the leaded glass, a sound that Peter had come to associate with the grinding of teeth or the slow erosion of stone, a noise that had become so integral to his existence that he could no longer distinguish the vibration in the ironwork from the tremor in his own bones, for he was...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded AtticThe dust in the Ministry of Archives did not just settle; it accumulated, a thick, grey skin over the years, over the ink, over the bones of the dead. You stood before the oak desk of the Undersecretary, the wood polished to a mirror shine that reflected your own hollowed eyes. The room was cold, heated by coal fires that roared in the grate like angry beasts, yet the air remained still, heavy...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful CampusThe bread was stale. It sat on the counter like a dead thing. Elias looked at it. The crust was hard. The crumb was dry. He reached for it. His hand shook. Not from cold. From fear. The room was bright. Too bright. The glass walls let in the light of the city. It was a city without a name. It was a city of glass and steel. It was a city of power. Elias stood in the kitchen. It was a high place....0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale AltarThe fire started in the grain silo. It was not a spark. It was not a wire. It was simply the air turning to ash. Elias stood on the hill. He watched the orange bloom. It grew. It swallowed the sky. The heat pushed against his face. He wore the uniform. The wool was heavy. The brass buttons were cold. He was the Sheriff. He was the law. He was nothing. The village of Oakhaven lay below. Stone...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek