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 WitnessThe seal of the Ashworth family, a jagged obsidian shard set in silver, had sat upon the desk of Elias Ashworth for thirty years, a dark tooth in the mouth of the wood. It was a thing of terrible weight, not merely in its physical heft but in the gravity of the oath it represented, an oath that Elias, the last of the line, had sworn to uphold with his very life. The study was a cavern of dust...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden EchoesThe rain did not fall so much as it existed, a thick, grey curtain that erased the horizon and turned the world into a single, damp room. You walked with your head down, counting your steps to keep the rhythm from breaking. One, two, three. Four. The mud sucked at your boots with a wet, final sound, pulling you toward the earth with a gravity that felt less like physics and more like judgment....0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale EchoThe rain lashed against the high, barred windows of the containment facility at Blackwood Ridge, a relentless, gray drumbeat that seemed to vibrate through the very bedrock of the institution, blurring the line between the storm outside and the sterile, humming cold of the interior corridors where Detective Elias Thorne stood, his uniform stiff with sweat and the metallic tang of fear, watching...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden CellarThe submersible pump coughed, sputtered, and died with a final, metallic groan that vibrated through the floorboards of the cellar. Elias Thorne, forty-two and soaked to the bone, stared at the rising water that had already swallowed the baseboards and was now lapping against the rusted legs of the old iron safe. It was not a natural flood. The rain outside had stopped three hours ago, yet the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden CompassYou are walking through the city in the rain, the slick cobblestones reflecting the gaslight in long, trembling ribbons of amber that seem to stretch out before you like a path to a distant, forgotten shore, and the air is thick with the smell of wet stone and coal smoke, a heavy, industrial perfume that settles in your lungs and tastes of iron and old dust, reminding you of the many winters...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded RoadThe feast hall of the High King smelled of roasting boar and stale ale, a thick, cloying scent that pressed against Elias Thorne’s lungs like a physical weight. He stood at the edge of the dais, his armor dented and tarnished, feeling the familiar, sickening pull in his chest where the spectral stag was fused to his spine. The beast was not a metaphor, nor a dream; it was a translucent,...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant WhispersThe soup was cold. It sat in the blue bowl, a thick, grey sludge that smelled of iron and old rain. I stared at it. The surface rippled, not from wind, but from something beneath. Something moving. My mother sat across from me. She did not eat. She never did anymore. She just watched me with eyes that were too wide, too bright, like the eyes of a deer caught in headlights. The cottage was old....0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded ChronicleThe gas lamp in the corner of Elias Thorne’s cramped flat flickered with a sickly, yellow pulse, casting long, trembling shadows that seemed to reach for the desk where he sat. It was the autumn of 1912, and the London fog had settled thickly against the single pane of glass, blurring the streetlamps outside into indistinct smears of orange light. Elias, a man of forty whose face had grown...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful AsylumThe rain had stopped, but the air in the village of Oakhaven still held the weight of it. It pressed against the windows of the small, rented house on the hill. Inside, Elias Thorne stood at the kitchen table. He was not looking at the view. He was looking at the jar. It was a simple glass jar, the kind once used for pickles. Inside, a pale, gelatinous substance sat suspended in a clear liquid....0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek