0 Comments
0 Shares
1 Views
0 Reviews
Directory
Discover new ideas, create new connections and make new friends
-
Please log in to like, share and comment!
-
The Pale TowerThe banquet hall in the basement of the old textile mill had been stripped of its dignity long before we arrived, leaving only the raw, humming architecture of pipes and the smell of damp concrete that seemed to seep into the very marrow of our bones, yet beneath this sterile industrial shell, the air was thick with a strange, suspended energy, a shimmering haze that made the edges of the world...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful CipherThe mirror cracked down the center with a sound like a gunshot, splitting the reflection of my own face into two jagged, trembling halves that stared back at me with the cold indifference of strangers. I stood there, my hand still raised, the brass letter opener clutched in my fist, the metal warm from the grip, the air in the library thick with the dust of centuries and the metallic taste of...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded BouquetThe rain in Blackwood County does not wash things clean; it only makes the grime slicker. I am Elias Thorne, night warden, and I have spent twelve years listening to the walls of the asylum breathe. My daughter, Lily, is seven, and she sleeps in the staff quarters with her favorite doll, a ragged thing named Mabel, tucked under her arm. I keep the east wing locked. I keep the gas lines checked....0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant AffairThe rain slicked the flagstones of the nave, turning the grey light of the morning into a bruised smear against the ancient glass. I stood at the base of the scaffold, my hands wrapped in leather so thick it felt like a second skin, and watched the Guild Master’s carriage rattle away from the cathedral doors. He had left with a warning, his voice crisp and cold as the stone I cut. The spire was...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale DoorThe dream was always the same. A door, pale as bone, standing alone in a field of gray ash. It did not open. It did not close. It simply waited. Elias Thorne woke with the taste of iron in his mouth, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. He was thirty-four years old, a sergeant in the reserve, and for the last five years, that door had been the only constant in his life. He...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant WhispersThe candlelight trembled. It was a thin, pale flame, struggling against the draft that snaked through the high vaulted ceiling of the Grand Hall. We were many. Too many. The air was thick with the scent of roasted boar, spiced wine, and the heavy, cloying perfume of lilies that lined the dais. I sat at the edge of the table, near the servants' door. My hands were still. They were always still....0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden FarceThe road to Oakhaven was a ribbon of grey gravel that wound through the autumnal decay of the valley, and Elias Thorne drove his hired wagon with a tightness in his chest that had nothing to do with the cold. He was thirty-two, a clerk of modest reputation in the city, and he carried a sealed letter from his solicitor that promised a sum of money sufficient to clear the debts that had been...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful AsylumThe mud sucks at your boots. It is thick, cold, and tastes of iron on your tongue. You walk. Your father’s hand is not there. It has not been there for three days. You walk alone into the dark. The forest is not a forest. It is a mouth. The trees are teeth. They bite. They chew. They do not stop. You are a maker of clocks. You know time. You know the tick. You know the tock. You know the gear...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful MirrorThe rain on the roof of the workshop sounds like a thousand small bones breaking. You are standing at the workbench, the smell of linseed oil and damp wool thick in the air, and you are waiting for the door to open. It does not. The village is silent. The war has taken the men, and it is taking the silence that follows them. You are a mirror maker. It is a craft that requires stillness, a...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek