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 QuestThe bus groaned into the depot, a metallic sigh that seemed to vibrate in the marrow of Dale’s bones. He stepped off, his boots heavy on the cracked asphalt, the rain still misting the air of the small, rust-belt town of Oakhaven. It was a place where the sky hung low and gray, pressing down on the rows of identical, decaying houses that lined the main street like teeth in a rotting jaw. Dale...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful AtlasThe ink did not dry; it breathed. I watched the quill tip hover above the vellum, the nib trembling not from my hand’s weakness but from a resistance in the liquid itself, a dark, viscous pushback against the intent to form a coastline. It was the year of our Lord 1342, and the damp cellar of the Tower had become the only world I knew, a damp, stone-walled prison where the air tasted of rot and...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden CrossingThe water in the cellar of the Abbey of Saint Jude was black and cold, rising past Elias Thorne’s knees with a slow, hydraulic inevitability. He clutched the vial of golden honey to his chest, the glass warm against his skin, humming a low, resonant note that vibrated in his teeth. Elias, thirty-five and a sergeant in the Duke’s guard, had spent the last three hours fighting the stone, shoring...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden MirrorThe jar on the kitchen table was not glass, but something harder, colder, a sliver of obsidian that seemed to drink the afternoon light rather than reflect it. It sat there, heavy as a stone, its surface scratched and dull from years of being handled, of being passed from hand to hand in the dim, dusty rooms of the Whitmore family. Elias Whitmore stood before it, his apron stained with the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant CrownThe road to the capital was a ribbon of mud that swallowed the wheels of Thomas Bradshaw’s cart, and he drove it with a fury that matched the ache in his own left hand. It was the year 1342, and the air smelled of wet stone and rotting hay, a scent that clung to his clothes and his skin. He was thirty years old, a scribe of modest reputation in the King’s court, and he carried a single,...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded ShieldThe sky had not been blue for three days. It was a bruised, swollen violet, hanging low over the valley of Ashworth, pressing against the eaves of the old limestone house until the timber groaned in a sound like a man clearing his throat before a long, difficult confession. Inside, the air was thick with the smell of ozone and wet wool, a scent that Elara Vance had learned to associate with the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale GardenThe dream was of salt. Not the clean, white crystal of the kitchen, but the gritty, grey residue of the sea floor, packed tight against the teeth. Elara woke with the taste of brine on her tongue and the sensation of wet sand in her hair. She was in her cell. The stone walls wept. A thin, cold rivulets of condensation traced the mortar, weeping like a penitent who had prayed too long and...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden CompassThe mud is thick. It tastes of iron and old rain. You are pinned beneath the weight of a dead man, his boots digging into your ribs, his uniform soaked through with blood that smells like copper pennies. Your lungs burn. The air is thin, stolen by the gas that drifts in yellow clouds across the trench line. You are not afraid. Fear is a luxury for those who have not yet been broken. You are...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded RoadThe frost sits thick on the glass. It looks like lace. It looks like bone. You watch it spread. You watch it kill the light. The room is cold. The air is still. You are sitting in the chair. The chair is wood. The wood is hard. The wood is old. You are Margaret. You are not Margaret. You are the seat. You are the breath. You are the silence that holds the walls together. The hall is vast. The...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek