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 Wistful ShowThe road to Oakhaven was a ribbon of mud and gravel, slick with the rain that had not stopped for three days. Elias walked with a limp, his boots heavy, his spine bent under the weight of a loom frame that he carried not for trade, but for penance. He was forty, a man of silence and thread, and his left forearm bore a mark that pulsed with a cold, metallic light. It was the shape of a clasp,...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale AltarThe jar sits on the edge of your desk, a sliver of pale glass holding the last white rose of your mother’s garden. It is a dry, brittle thing, preserved in spirit and vinegar, yet it looks alive against the grey wood of the clerk’s table. You are Elias, thirty-two, and you are broke. The city of Ostrava is old, its stones worn smooth by centuries of feet, but the money inside it is new and...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded RoadThe ink in my dreams was always black, viscous, and warm, seeping into the pores of my wrists until I felt the weight of words I had not yet written pressing against the inside of my skin. I woke with the taste of iron in my mouth, the sheets damp with sweat, and the relentless, ticking pressure of the debt that held me in the Imperial Chancery like a rat in a trap. I am Elias, forty-two years...0 Comments 0 Shares 5 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden SuspectOctober 14 The heart failed at 4:00 AM, a stuttering stop that felt less like pain and more like a door slamming shut in a drafty hallway, and I lay in the dark of the master bedroom listening to the rain tap against the glass, a sound that had become indistinguishable from the blood rushing in my ears over the last decade of service. I am fifty years old, and the county doctor says I have six...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale GardenThe mist in Oakhaven did not roll in; it seeped up from the earth, a cold, wet breath that tasted of iron and old rain. Elias Thorne stood before the magistrate’s heavy oak door, his knuckles white against the brass handle, the leather-bound journal in his hand feeling less like a book and more like a stone. He had come to report a crime, but the village had already decided what the crime was....0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant MetropolisThe mud of the Somme did not merely cover Elias Thorne; it consumed him, a cold, sucking weight that fused his tattered uniform to the skin of his legs and chest, turning every step into a labor of extraction. He was thirty-four years old, a sergeant who had seen the machinery of war grind men into paste, and his only desire, the singular, desperate want that kept his heart beating against the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful GridThe date on the parchment is the fourteenth of November, though Elias does not know for certain if it is morning or evening, for the high windows of the scriptorium are sealed with leaded glass that admits only a dim, gray light which never shifts, never brightens, and never darkens, creating a timeless stagnation that has begun to feel less like imprisonment and more like the interior of a...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant CartographThe mud of the Blackwood Frontier did not merely cling to Sergeant Elias Thorne’s boots; it seemed to possess a viscous, predatory intent, sucking at his limbs with a suction that felt less like friction and more like the slow, deliberate closure of a throat. He stood in the center of a clearing that had not existed an hour prior, the compass in his left hand spinning with a frantic, hypnotic...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden SongThe carriage wheels rattled over the cobblestones of Aethelgard, a sound like teeth grinding against bone, as Silas Vane adjusted the leather case in his lap, his knuckles white not from cold but from the sheer, vibrating tension of a man who believed his own blood was thicker than the laws of physics. He was thirty years old, a Captain of the Royal Guard, and he carried in that small,...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek