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 RootThe apple core sat on the desk, pulsing with a faint, rhythmic heat. It was the third morning it had appeared, identical in its rot, identical in its smell of sweet decay. Elias Thorne, forty-two and tenured, stared at it until his vision blurred. He needed the monograph on medieval alchemy to secure his future, but the future was a debt owed to a man who smelled of wet dog and cheap tobacco....0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant CrownThe fog does not drift; it presses. It curls against the glass of the gatehouse like a living thing, thickening whenever a lie is spoken, thinning only when the truth is bare and cold. You are Elias Thorne, thirty-four, a border warden, and your hands are shaking as you hold the pen over the final seal of the old treaty. Outside, the wind howls, but inside, the air is still, heavy with the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale ExileThe air in the Foundry tasted of copper. Elias wiped his eyes. He was ten. His hands shook. The steam hissed. It sounded like a snake. It sounded like breath. He looked at the machine. It was huge. It was black. It was cold. Master Halloway stood by the console. He did not look at Elias. He looked at the gauge. The needle trembled. It moved left. It moved right. It stopped. "You are slow,"...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale DanceThe fog did not roll in from the sea; it rose from the soot, a pale, suffocating blanket that tasted of iron and old dust. Arthur Vane stood at the gate of the St. Jude’s Sanitarium, his coal-stained hands gripping the iron bars until his knuckles turned white, watching the mist swirl around the headstone of the groundskeeper who had died three days prior. He had come for Elara, for the release...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden OathThe ink was still wet when I heard the door creak. I did not look up from the ledger. The numbers were simple, yet they refused to balance. Twelve pounds for the miller’s debt. Six for the clerk’s wage. Three for the coal. The arithmetic was a cage, and I was the bird beating against the bars. Halloway stood in the doorway. He did not enter. He held a sealed envelope in his left hand, his right...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded MasqueradeThe ink on the title page of Elias Thorne’s monograph, *The Masquerade of Fibrous Tissue*, was still wet when the first tremor seized his right hand, a violent spasm that sent the fountain pen skidding across the desk and scratching a long, white scar into the black leather blotter. It was November 1912, and the industrial fog of Manchester had settled into the pores of the city like a damp,...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant ThresholdThe rain did not fall so much as it hung in the air, a suspended grey curtain that smelled of wet stone and old iron. Captain Elias Thorne stood at the edge of the Blackwood Gate, his hand resting on the hilt of a sword that had not tasted blood in ten years, yet felt heavier than any he had ever carried. Beside him, leaning on a gnarled staff of ash wood, stood Master Kaelen. Kaelen’s eyes,...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful MountainThe snow did not fall; it hung, a static gray veil that smothered the Iron Throne’s highest terrace. Captain Elias Vane stood alone, his breath pluming in short, sharp bursts that vanished before they could touch the stone balustrade. He was thirty years old, a man carved from the same cold iron as the weapons in his belt, yet his hands trembled with a violence that had nothing to do with the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale LetterElias. The name hangs in the air, a low hum that vibrates against the fillings in your teeth. You are forty-two. You are the night watchman at the Holloway Mill. You want the gate to stay shut. You want it shut until the sun burns the mist off the cobblestones. You want to keep the yard empty. You want to keep the road out. The fog is here. It does not creep. It arrives, a solid wall of grey...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek