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 Faded ShieldThe snow falls in thick, silent sheets, erasing the track of your horse as you approach the iron gates of Ashworth Manor. You are Elias, forty-two years old, and your body feels like a rusted hinge, creaking with every motion. For ten years, you have ridden the borders, chasing a ghost of honor that never materialized, while the manor rotted behind you. Your younger brother, Thomas, is dying....0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded DustThe fog in the city did not merely settle; it infiltrated, a cold, damp pressure that seeped through the double-paned glass of the municipal archive and into the very grain of the wood, turning the air thick with the scent of wet chalk and old paper. Elias Thorne, a man whose life had been reduced to the quiet, rhythmic task of preserving the past, sat at his desk with a porcelain hand in his...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded PhotographThe banquet hall was a cathedral of dust and rot, a vast, echoing tomb where the air hung thick with the scent of mildew and the ghost of old grease, and I sat at the long table with my hands folded tightly in my lap, watching the candlelight flicker against the peeling wallpaper while the silence stretched out before me like a road leading into the dark. I had come here to find the truth, to...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale ExileThe carriage wheels ground against the cobblestones as Elias Thorne sat in the back, his knuckles white around the leather strap of the case resting on his lap. The Meridian Engine sat within, a complex lattice of brass gears and silver escapements that represented twenty years of his life’s labor. He was forty-two, and the weight of the case felt heavier than the metal it contained. His...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded BouquetThe train cut through the fog like a blade through grey silk. It rattled over the iron tracks, a sound that vibrated in the marrow of Elias Thorne’s bones. He sat in the corner of the carriage, his coat buttoned to the chin. In his lap, he held a single flower. It was a white lily, its petals stiff and dry, preserved by some alchemical trick of time. The lily did not wilt. It did not fade. It...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded BouquetThe ink was still wet, a viscous black river that seemed to swallow the light in the scriptorium, and Elias stood with his hand trembling so violently that the quill scratched not the vellum but the air itself, a sound like dry leaves skittering across a grave. He was not merely a scribe, though the abbey ledgers listed him as such, a minor functionary in the vast, shadowed machinery of the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded ShieldThe rain had not stopped for three days, a grey curtain that blurred the world beyond the stone walls of the refectory into a smear of mud and silence. Brother Thomas sat in the corner, his back pressed against the cold limestone, watching the water drip from the eaves in a steady, rhythmic beat that sounded like the ticking of a slow, indifferent clock. He was a man of few words, a scholar of...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful AsylumThe rain fell in sheets. It beat against the tin roof of the watchtower. Marcus stood by the window. He held his rifle. His hands were steady. He was a guard. That was all. He watched the road below. The fog was thick. It swallowed the trees. It swallowed the world. There was no sun. There was no moon. Only gray. Only wet. He thought of Clara. She was in the village. Or she had been. The...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded GuestThe coat hung on the hook by the door. It was a heavy thing, wool of a dark, undying blue, the kind that absorbed light rather than reflecting it. I had worn it for seven years. Seven years of lectures, of ink-stained fingers, of the cold draughts that crept under the oak doors of the Old Hall. The coat was not just fabric. It was a second skin. It was the weight of my tenure, my reputation, my...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek