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 SilenceThe stone is bleeding again," Silas said, his voice low and tight, holding the chisel at a distance as if the tool itself were a live wire. Elias Thorne did not look up immediately. He was hunched over the workbench, the smell of iron filings and stale coffee thick in the air, the weight of the deadline pressing against his temples like a physical blow. It was a Tuesday, the kind of gray,...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful Mountain"The ink is dry, Elias. Do you understand that? It is dry." Lord Vane did not look up from the desk. He held the parchment between thumb and forefinger, his nails short and clean, a stark contrast to the blackened tips of his own quill. The scriptorium was cold, the kind of damp chill that settles into the joints of the knuckles and the base of the neck. Outside, the bells of the cathedral...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale EchoThe autumn rain in Harrowgate did not wash the city clean; it merely made the soot stick to the cobblestones, turning the streets into a slurry of grey and black that mirrored the mood of the municipal offices. Arthur Vane, a man of thirty-four whose hands were perpetually stained with oil and whose spine had begun to curve under the weight of his trade, sat in his workshop on the second floor...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful SagaThorne, come out of that workshop, the doctor said, his voice thin and reedy over the roar of the wind that battered the shutters of the house on the High Street. Elias did not move from his bench, his eyes fixed on the escapement of the astronomical clock that dominated the center of the room, a mechanism of brass and steel that had consumed his life and the lives of his fathers before him....0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant MetropolisThe letter from the Pension Office arrived on a Tuesday, folded into a neat, bureaucratic square that smelled faintly of damp wool and ink. Arthur Vane stood at the head of the fencing hall, the air thick with the metallic tang of sweat and old wood, and read the notification twice before his fingers began to tremble slightly. It was a standard form, the kind used for ten thousand civil...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful CampusElias Thorne. The name was spoken by the clerk, a flat and bureaucratic summons that cut through the morning silence of the workshop. Elias looked up from the parchment, his brush suspended in the air, a drop of black ink trembling on the tip. He was thirty-four years old, a master calligrapher in the ancient city of Oakhaven, and he had spent the last six years perfecting the script for the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded RootThe concrete is already mixed. It sits in the wheel, grey and wet, looking like the mud of a dead field. You stand at the base of the Spire. The stone is warm under your palm, vibrating with a low, rhythmic thrum that you feel in your teeth. You have been a warden for twenty years. You know the Spire. It is not a building. It is a mouth. It has been drinking from the city’s blood for three...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden MythElias’s fingers worked the hinge of the locket, the brass cold and gritty against his skin. The metal resisted, rusted shut by years of neglect and the damp that seeped through the attic floorboards. He pried it open with a thumbnail, leaving a raw, white crescent of pain. Inside, the glass casing was cracked, a spiderweb fracture that caught the thin, gray light from the single window. Beneath...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale ShadowsThe candlelight in the Great Hall of Dunmore Castle did not flicker; it burned with a steady, surgical precision that made the shadows sharp and cruel. Sir Eamon sat alone in the center of the room, his back straight against the cold stone of the throne, his left hand resting on the pommel of his sword. His fingers trembled, a fine, high-frequency vibration that traveled up his wrist and into...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek