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 Wistful ThroneThe alarm did not ring. It screamed, a jagged tear in the silence of the night shift that split the air of the precinct’s break room. For a fraction of a second, the only sound was the high-pitched whine of the system failing, followed by the heavy, wet thud of something falling. Then, the chaos. Detective Elias Thorne sat up from the vinyl bench, his spine aching with a dull, familiar grind....0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant AffairThe dream began not with sound but with the viscosity of air, thick as syrup, filling the lungs of Elias Thorne, a man who had spent the last three decades cataloguing the silent, persistent decay of institutional memory in the basement archives of the Sterling Museum of Natural History. In the dream, the rows of glass cases stretched into an infinite horizon, each containing not birds or...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful CrossroadsThe fog in Oakhaven does not drift; it eats. It swallows the sound of my boots on the cobblestones and turns the gaslights into blurred, bleeding halos. I am Elias, a night watchman for the City Guard, and I have walked these streets for ten years. My wool coat is heavy, a grey beast that hangs on my shoulders, fraying at the elbows where the fabric has given way to the cold. It is my armor. It...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden OathYou wake in the mud. The rain has not stopped. It never stops here. It soaks into the bone, into the marrow, a cold that does not care for your rank or your name. You are Sergeant Elias Thorne. You are a soldier. You are broken. The dream was sharp. In it, you held a golden oath in your hand. It was not a piece of metal. It was a word, written in light, burned into the air. *Loyalty.* You tried...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant CartographThe morning light in the Archive of Silences was not light at all, but a slow, viscous ooze of pale gold that seemed to suspend the dust motes in a state of perpetual, agonizing hesitation. You stood before the Great Table, a slab of obsidian so polished it reflected not your face, but the hollow architecture of your own ambitions, and you felt the weight of the hunger that had been eating you...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful SkylineThe bell tower of St. Jude’s did not ring at noon. It rang at the hour when the light turned the color of bruised plums, a time that belonged to no clock but to the slow, rotting decay of the town’s moral certainty. Elias Thorne stood in the shadow of the belfry, his hands wrapped around the iron railing, feeling the cold seep into his knuckles. He was a man who dealt in stone and mortar, in...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden MirrorThe stone of the well was broken, a jagged mouth of earth and fractured granite where the water had once been clear. I stood before the ruin, my hands trembling not from the cold of the November morning but from the weight of the glass vial in my right palm. Inside, the liquid pulsed with a faint, rhythmic gold, a heartbeat that matched my own, though mine was faster, frayed by three days of...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded ApartmentThe train to Veldt smells of coal dust and damp wool, a scent that settles into the fibers of your greatcoat and stays there long after you have stepped off the platform into the biting November air. You are forty years old, Major Elias Thorne, a man who has spent the last decade mastering the precise architecture of human anatomy before the world forced you to master the architecture of...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful DinnerThe chandelier in the center of the ballroom was a sprawling, crystalline thing that caught the gaslight and scattered it across the faces of the guests in a hundred sharp, indifferent points, and beneath its cold brilliance Julian Vane stood with a glass of vintage port in his hand, watching the woman who had once been his wife move through the crowd with a grace that felt less like dignity...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek