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 Pale LetterThe house breathes. You know this because the floorboards creak under a weight that is not yours. It is a draft of cold air, a shiver in the plaster, the slow exhalation of a structure that has forgotten how to be still. You stand in the center of the drawing room, the one that used to hold your father’s chess set and the scent of pipe tobacco. Now it holds only dust and the ghost of a sound. A...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded RiverThe river in Oakhaven did not flow so much as it remembered, a sluggish, brown artery pulsing through the heart of the town with a low, constant hum that vibrated in the teeth of anyone who stood too close to the bank. Elias, a boy of twelve with hands stained permanently by the varnish he used to patch his father’s shame, stood on the rotting planks of the pier, watching the hull of his...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant BladeThe rain did not fall so much as it hung in the air, a fine, gray mist that clung to the cobblestones of Blackfriars Lane like a shroud. Thomas Ashworth stood on the corner, his shoulder against the damp brick, watching the clock face of St. Jude’s Church. It was three in the afternoon, the hour when the light turned to bruised purple and the shadows stretched long and thin across the wet...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale BonsaiThe ink in your pen is not ink, but blood, and it seeps from the nib with a wet, crimson hiss as you sign the final report. Your name, Elias Thorne, stretches across the paper in a jagged, weeping line, the letters blooming into dark stains that smell of iron and old rot. You are forty-two years old, a border patrol agent with hands that have held rifles and ledgers, but today they hold only...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale ShadowsThe rain did not fall so much as it hung in the air, a gray, wet shroud over the courtyard of St. Jude’s. Elara stood by the window of her office, a square of glass in the limestone wall, watching the droplets race each other down the pane. She was a woman who had made a career of looking closely, of finding the crack in the porcelain, the lie in the ledger. But today, the looking felt less...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant GhostThe wind cuts through the wool of your cloak. It is a sharp, dry blade. You feel it in the marrow of your bones. You are walking. You are always walking. The road stretches before you, a gray ribbon unspooling into the mist. The sun is low. It hangs pale and thin in the sky. It offers no warmth. Only light. Cold light. You are a man of the Order. You wear the gray. You carry the sword. You are...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded RuinThe morning light fell through the high, arched windows of the Whitmore estate in a pale, dusty shaft, illuminating the motes that danced in the stagnant air like suspended ghosts, and it was in this quiet, oppressive silence that Colonel Arthur Whitmore found himself standing before the heavy oak door of the family vault, his hand resting on the cold iron handle, feeling the weight of a...0 Comments 0 Shares 3 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful PetalThe jar sat on the counter, a squat, squat thing of green glass that smelled faintly of vinegar and old pennies, and I stared at it until my eyes burned, because inside, suspended in a cloudy brine, was a single, translucent petal that looked exactly like the tongue of a dog that had died of thirst, and I knew, with a certainty that settled into my bones like winter damp, that this was the only...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded RoadThe hall smelled of roast beef and old sweat. Torches guttered in iron sconces, casting long, trembling shadows against the stone walls of the great keep. Sir Thomas stood at the edge of the floor, his sword sheathed, his hand resting on the hilt. He did not look at the king. He looked at the mud on his boots. The feast was loud. Cups clinked. Laughter rang sharp and bright in the high vaulted...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek