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 RoadThe copper pot of the primary still was warm to the touch, a temperature that defied the November frost rattling the windowpanes, and Elias Thorne pressed his palm against the metal, feeling the heat pulse beneath the scale like a slow, steady heartbeat that had no business existing in a dead facility. He had driven six hours from the city to fulfill a final contract, a clause in Mara’s divorce...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden GreenhouseThe sulfur is turning yellow, then brown, then a sickly, bruised purple. My hands are shaking, not from cold, but from the heat radiating off the copper still. I am twelve years old, and I am writing this in the cellar of Ashworth Manor, where the air tastes of rot and ambition. I want to synthesize the Golden Greenhouse elixir. I need it to stop my father’s lungs from tearing themselves apart....0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful WitnessThe fog in Millbrook did not smell of rot. It smelled of lavender and old pennies, a cloying, sweet scent that settled into the lungs like a second breath. Arthur Vane stood at the window of his cramped office, watching the grey-white mist curl around the iron spires of the tanneries. He was thirty years old, and he had spent six years in the County Sanitation Board, a junior clerk whose life...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale DanceThe vial was small, glass, and cold against my palm. I held it up to the lantern light, watching the amber liquid swirl, a thick, viscous thing that smelled of bitter roots and stale earth. It was my father’s legacy, a tincture of opium he had brewed in his final years to quiet the shakes in his hands, the same tremors that now plagued mine. I was thirty-two years old, a constable in Oakhaven,...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale BonsaiThe rain fell in sheets that smelled of rust and wet wool. Kael counted the stitches in his sleeve, twelve frayed threads holding the pale fabric together, and checked the time. It was four o’clock. He had to reach the castle before the bells rang six. In his pocket, the sealed letter burned against his hip, a hot coal wrapped in wax and parchment. He was a soldier, or had been, until the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded MasqueradeThe dream began, as it often did in those final, feverish weeks before the court’s final judgment, with the sound of glass shattering, a crystalline scream that cut through the heavy, sulfurous air of the mill town of Oakhaven, where the smoke from the chimneys hung low and thick against the sky like a shroud that refused to lift, settling into the lungs of the workers and the women who waited...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded FrontierThe train into Oakhaven smelled of coal smoke and wet wool, a scent that Elias Thorne had come to associate with the beginning of every professional catastrophe. He stepped onto the platform, his leather case heavy in his hand, the November air biting at his exposed skin, and immediately his eyes were drawn not to the stationmaster’s polite nod, but to the silhouette of St. Jude’s Chapel rising...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden FarceThe banquet hall of the Department of Internal Stability was not a room for eating, but for consuming, a vast, circular chamber where the air tasted of ozone and old paper and the metallic tang of unspoken threats, and in the center of this strange, sterile feast sat Elias Thorne, a man whose uniform was pressed to a sharpness that seemed to cut the air around him, his hands resting on the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden OathThe letter from the Town Council lay on the anvil, its seal broken, the ink still wet enough to smear under Elias Thorne’s thumb. It was a formal revocation of commission, citing "incompetence and delay" in the forging of the Centennial Sword, a document that smelled of cheap wax and bureaucratic malice. Elias read it twice, the words blurring not from fatigue but from the sudden, cold weight...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek