0 Commenti
0 condivisioni
0 Views
0 Anteprima
Elenco
Discover new ideas, create new connections and make new friends
-
Effettua l'accesso per mettere mi piace, condividere e commentare!
-
The Golden DowntownThe rain had not stopped for three days, and the air inside the university library smelled of wet wool, old paper, and the faint, metallic tang of rust that seemed to seep up from the foundation stones. Elias Thorne sat in his usual corner, a small alcove where the light from the high windows fell in pale, slanted beams, illuminating the dust motes that danced like suspended ghosts. He was a...0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 0 Views 0 Anteprima
-
The Distant WoundThe rain did not fall so much as it was exhaled by the sky, a thick, grey breath that turned the cobblestones of the old dockyards into mirrors reflecting the bruised clouds above, and in the center of that wet, trembling reflection stood the great brass bell, a monument to an industry that had already swallowed its own tail and died of indigestion. Elias Thorne stood before it, his hands...0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 1 Views 0 Anteprima
-
The Golden CircuitThe parchment trembles in your hands, the ink still wet, black as a bruise. You are writing to him, to the man who broke you, even as you break him. The candle gutters. The shadow of the chandelier dances on the walls of the Great Hall, a skeletal spider spinning webs of light and dark. You do not look up. You cannot. To look up would be to see the faces of the court, the jeers, the pity. So...0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 0 Views 0 Anteprima
-
The Pale TowerThe taste of iron and ash was still clinging to the back of Thomas Bradshaw’s tongue, a metallic film that no amount of water could scrub away, and as he stood amidst the smoking ruins of the watchtower, the air around him did not behave as air should, but rather thickened into a viscous, grey gel that hummed with a low, subsonic frequency which seemed to vibrate in the very marrow of his...0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 0 Views 0 Anteprima
-
The Wistful SilenceThe gate was cold. Elias stood there, his breath pluming in the frost, watching his father’s carriage disappear into the mist. He did not wave. He could not. His hands were trembling, the fingers curled like dead leaves, a symptom of the cost he had paid to keep his father alive. He wanted the Elixir of Stasis. He needed it to halt the decay that was eating the old man from the inside out. But...0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 0 Views 0 Anteprima
-
The Distant Machine12 October, 1904. The steam in the pipes has begun to speak, and I am writing this by the light of a tallow candle because the gas lamps in the office flicker with a sickly, arrhythmic pulse that makes my eyes water. I am Elias Thorne, thirty-two years old, a clerk for the Northern Railway, and I need this promotion to Station Master before the winter freeze sets in and locks the ledger shut....0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 0 Views 0 Anteprima
-
The Wistful CrossroadsThe needle slipped through the wool. Elara pulled the thread tight, her fingers numb from the cold seeping through the floorboards of the cottage. Outside, the coal town of Blackwood breathed a thick, grey fog that tasted of sulfur and ash. Her mother lay in the next room, coughing a wet, rattling cough that shook the walls. Elara needed the medicine. The doctor had said it was expensive, but...0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 1 Views 0 Anteprima
-
The Wistful SilenceThe air in the sub-basement of the St. Jude’s Chapel smelled of damp plaster and ancient stone, a scent that seemed to settle into the lungs like dust. Thomas Bradshaw stood before the massive, stained-glass window, his hands clasped behind his back in a posture of rigid discipline that felt increasingly like a cage. He was a man carved from the same grey rock as the chapel itself, his uniform...0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 0 Views 0 Anteprima
-
The Pale BridgeThe fluorescent lights in the basement of the St. Jude’s Data Center did not buzz; they pulsed, a slow, arrhythmic thumping that matched the stuttering beat in Elena Vane’s chest. It was 4:00 AM on a Tuesday in November, and the air in the server room tasted of ozone and old copper, a metallic tang that coated the back of her throat. Elena, thirty-four years old with a back that ached from...0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 0 Views 0 Anteprima