0 Comments
0 Shares
4 Views
0 Reviews
Directory
Discover new ideas, create new connections and make new friends
-
Please log in to like, share and comment!
-
The Wistful PetalThe first crack runs through the central vase like a lightning strike frozen in amber. You watch it spread, a jagged white line bisecting the clear, hand-blown glass. Your hands are trembling. They have been trembling for three years, ever since the palsy started to steal the fine motor control that made you a master of the craft. You are Elias, forty-two, and you are failing. The workshop is...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded FrequencyThe letter arrived on a Tuesday, carried by a boy whose breath misted in the cold air of the courtyard. Thomas Bradshaw sat in the corner of his room, a place that smelled of damp wool and old iron, waiting for the world to end or begin. He was a man of few words, a soldier who had traded the mud of the front lines for the silence of a stone hall. His hands, rough and scarred, rested on the...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded ParadoxThorne. The word hung in the damp air of the apothecary, sharp and final, spoken by the magistrate’s steward as he pointed a trembling finger at the shelf of dried herbs. Elias Thorne, forty-two and smelling faintly of camphor and stale coffee, looked up from the ledger where he had been balancing the cost of a new pestle against the price of the foxglove he had just purchased, a sum that was...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant ClueThe marble floor of the Department of Justice atrium was cold enough to seep through the soles of Elias Thorne’s shoes, a chill that traveled up his spine and settled in the empty space where his left hand had been for six weeks. He stood before the heavy oak doors of the Director’s office, his right hand gripping the strap of his messenger bag until the leather creaked. The phantom limb was...0 Comments 0 Shares 4 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful CampusThe broth was black, thick as tar, and it smelled of copper and old rain. "You are dreaming again, Thomas," the Dean said, his voice low and hard as a stone dropped in a well. I woke with the taste on my tongue, metallic and cold, lingering like a bad penny. It was the third time this week. In the scriptorium, the ink was drying on my fingers, but the dream was heavier than the quill. I wanted...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful DinnerThe pen slipped. Elias Thorne watched it roll off the bed tray and bounce against the linoleum, a small, metallic click that seemed too loud for the sterile silence of the room. He did not move to pick it up. His left hand, the one that had spent the last decade transcribing the fragmented, fevered journals of his late father, lay open on the white sheet. The fingers were twisted inward, locked...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale BonsaiThe ink on your official report does not dry; it weeps. You are Elias Thorne, a border warden of thirty-four years, and you have spent the last decade trying to prove that the Pale Bonsai is a hallucination, a trick of the fog and the fatigue that haunts the northern gate. Your pension depends on it. If the tree is real, the post is defunded, your years of service are erased, and you are left...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden CircuitThe fog did not roll in so much as it accumulated, a slow, grey sediment that settled over the trench lines with the weight of wet wool. It was October the fourteenth, though the date had ceased to hold any meaning beyond the ink on the page, and Captain Elias Thorne sat in the damp earth, his hands trembling as he held the pen. He was writing to Martha, his younger sister, not to tell her of...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful ShowThe goblet was heavy in Sir Thomas’s hand, the wine dark as dried blood. He did not drink. He watched the candlelight catch the rim, a thin arc of gold trembling with every shift of the crowded hall. The feast of Lord Blackwood was in full roar, a cacophony of clinking steel and loud, drunken laughter that bounced off the stone walls. Thomas stood near the hearth, his hand steady, his eyes...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek