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 Distant JokeThe kitchen smelled of copper and wet wool. Marcus stood before the counter, his hands resting on the cold steel, watching a single drop of water fall from the tap into the sink. It was a rhythmic, lonely sound. Tick. Tick. Tick. The house was silent, save for the hum of the refrigerator and the distant, muffled traffic on the street outside. He was a man who lived in the margins of his own...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded MasqueradeThe carriage wheels groaned against the cobblestones of the Vane Estate drive, a sound that seemed to echo the persistent, burning itch in the left palm of twelve-year-old Arthur Vane. He sat rigid on the velvet seat, his knuckles white as he gripped the edge of the seat, watching the soot-stained facade of the house loom through the rain-streaked glass. Arthur had come to retrieve his father’s...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded MasqueradeThe static did not sound like wind, nor like the groaning of old timber, but like the high-pitched whine of a galvanic battery pushed past its operational limit, a frequency that Arthur Penhaligon felt in the teeth before he heard it with the ears. He stood in the center of the Blackwood estate’s library, a room choked with the dust of decades and the smell of damp wool, holding a trowel and a...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden CrossingThe first entry in the ledger is dated the fourteenth of October, though I no longer recall the year. I had spent the afternoon in the amber-lit study, the air thick with the scent of old paper and the low, persistent hum of the Golden Crossing. It sat on the oak desk, a relic of unidentifiable alloy, vibrating at a frequency that seemed to bypass my ears and settle directly into the marrow of...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden GreenhouseThe rain does not fall so much as it hangs, a grey veil that dissolves the boundary between the cobblestones of the high street and the sky above. You walk with your boots heavy, the mud of the district clinging to your shins like a second skin, the weight of your uniform pressing down on shoulders that have not known rest for three days. The city is holding its breath, a tension so thick you...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful LetterThe rain did not fall so much as it hung, a gray veil pressed against the windows of the blacksmith’s forge, blurring the world outside into a smear of mud and dead leaf. Inside, the air was thick with the smell of wet iron and woodsmoke, a scent that had soaked into Elias Thorne’s bones over forty years of hammering. He stood by the anvil, his shoulders hunched against a cold that seemed to...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant LegendThe smoke from the bonfire on the hillside tastes of ash and old paper. You stand at the edge of the crowd, your constable’s cap pulled low against the chill, watching the flames lick at the skeletal remains of the Old Quarter. The Mayor’s decree is absolute: the district must be purged, the disease of its poverty burned out with the timber. You do not look at the fire. You look at your hand....0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden MasterThe feast hall of the Abbey of Saint Jude smelled of roasted lamb, beeswax, and the heavy, cloying sweetness of old wine, a scent that Elias Thorne had come to associate with the slow, inevitable rot of his own ambition. He sat at the high table, his forty years of service to the scriptorium etched into the deep lines of his face, while forty monks chanted in the low, rhythmic drone that...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden ScarWe stood in the gray, rain-slicked terminal of the transit hub, the air thick with the smell of ozone and wet wool, and I watched my younger brother, Elias, press his thumb against the biometric scanner with a tremor in his hand that spoke of a fear so primal it had bypassed his conscious mind entirely, a fear that lived in the marrow, in the blood, in the ancient, screaming part of the brain...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek