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 MythThe banquet in the rotunda of City Hall was a spectacle of gilded excess, the air thick with the scent of roasted pheasant and the damp, metallic tang of the November rain lashing against the high windows. Elias Thorne stood at the periphery, his waistcoat buttoned tight against a chill that had nothing to do with the temperature, his eyes fixed not on the dancing couples but on the heavy...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden CellarThe cellar door swung open with a groan that sounded too much like a sigh, too much like the settling of bones in old wood, and I stood there in the draft, holding the lantern up against the dark with hands that shook not from cold but from the sheer, terrifying weight of the secret I had carried in my chest for three days, three days that had stretched into a lifetime of silence and waiting...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful DinnerThe rain had not stopped for three days, turning the King’s Road into a slurry of mud and broken carriage wheels. Sir Aldous Vane rode through the deluge, the leather of his saddle slick and cold against his back, his eyes fixed on the distant silhouette of the capital. He was forty years old, a man whose face had been carved by the wind and the weight of a single, heavy duty. In his saddlebag,...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden RitualThe feast was a lie of gold and blood. We sat in the Hall of Whispers. The air tasted of iron and stale wine. I looked at the chalice. It was brass. Tarnished. The handle was worn smooth by my father’s hand. He is gone. The cup remains. The Grand Inquisitor spoke. His voice was a dry leaf skittering on stone. He called it the Golden Ritual. He said the metal drank sin. I drank the wine. It...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded ParadoxThe house stood on the hill. It was a gray thing. Stone and ivy. It watched the town below. It did not blink. It did not move. It was old. Older than the road. Older than the church. It was a witness. It was a judge. It was a tomb. Margaret lived in the house. No, she did not live there. She guarded it. She was the caretaker. She was the daughter. She was the ghost. Her father was dead. He had...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden SuspectThe fire had not started in the hearth, nor in the kitchens, nor in the hayloft, but in the very marrow of the archive, a slow, chemical burning that smelled of sulfur and old vellum. Master Aldous Vane, the Keeper of the Library at St. Jude’s, stood before the great oak doors that had not been opened in forty years, his hands trembling not from the heat, but from the terrible, cold certainty...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale TaleThe banquet hall smells of roasted goose and stale perfume. It is a smell that hangs in the air like a fog, thick and cloying. You sit at the long table. Your uniform is crisp. The buttons are polished. They reflect the candlelight in small, cold stars. You are a soldier here. Or perhaps a judge. The distinction blurs in the dimness. The people around you are smiling. Their faces are pale,...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful IncenseThe feast of Lord Vane was a riot of tallow light and roasted boar, the air thick with the cloying, sweet scent of the wistful incense that lined the hall’s pillars. Sergeant Thomas Hale stood by the hearth, his hand resting on the pommel of his sword, his eyes fixed on the Lord’s empty chair. He wanted the promotion to Captain, a title that would clear his family’s debt to the moneylenders and...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden DowntownThe sky split open on a Tuesday, not with thunder, but with a sound like tearing silk. It was a jagged, vertical wound of gold that ran from the horizon to the apex of the heavens, bisecting the gray November clouds over the town of Oakhaven. It did not rain. It did not wind. The air simply stopped, holding its breath in a way that made the lungs ache. Marcus Thorne stood at the edge of the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek