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 Distant ThresholdThe oak door groaned, a low, wooden complaint that echoed through the vaulted silence of the restricted wing. Elara Vane, thirty-two, pressed her shoulder against the heavy timber, forcing it open with a strength that felt borrowed, fragile. Her hands, usually steady enough to handle the oldest manuscripts in the monastery, trembled now, a fine, rhythmic shudder that she had tried for months to...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden MirrorThe feast of the Guild Hall smelled of roasting boar and stale ale, a thick, cloying scent that clung to the wool of Elias Thorne’s tunic. He stood at the edge of the long table, his hands resting on the rough wood, watching the Master of the Guild, Aldric, raise a goblet to the memory of the dead. Elias wanted the commission for the new cathedral window, a commission that would secure his name...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale DoorThe silver shard cut Elias Thorne’s thumb before the Minister had finished speaking, a thin line of blood welling against the cold metal in his palm. He did not flinch, nor did he look down at the wound; his eyes remained fixed on the heavy oak desk of the Ministry of Finance, where the afternoon light from the high windows fell in slanted, dusty bars, illuminating the dust motes that swirled...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale BonsaiThe ledger on Elias Thorne’s desk was open to the page detailing the cost of grafting wax, the price of the paraffin lamp oil, and the accumulated debt owed to the apothecary for the tinctures that kept his father’s cough at bay. He counted the hours he had spent staring at the bonsai, the ancient, twisted thing that sat on the windowsill of the study, its leaves a pale, translucent green that...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden VisitThe iron stove in the cellar breathes. That is the first thing you must understand about the house at Blackwood Manor, for it does not sit inert as stone and timber, but inhales the damp air with a slow, rhythmic pull that sucks the warmth from your lungs and leaves your fingers trembling against the cold metal. You are twelve years old, Elias, and your hands are stained black with soot, the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale FractureThe champagne in my glass was warm, tasting of copper and stale smoke. I stood in the corner of the Foundry Hall, watching the dancers spin under the chandeliers, their dresses flashing like scales on a fish. I was not there for the music. I was there for the ledger. My brother, Silas, had died three months ago, leaving behind a debt to the Ironworks that could crush my family for a generation....0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale TowerThe dream is always the same. You are standing in the white light of the archive, holding a quill, and then your left hand shatters. It does not break like bone; it breaks like a wine glass dropped on stone, the fingers scattering into a hundred sharp, glittering shards that dissolve before they hit the floor. You wake with the scent of iron and old paper in your throat, your left hand clenched...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale DoorThe ledger weighed three pounds. I held it in my left hand, the side that still trembled when the damp crept into the joints. Three years since Julian died, and the Guild still called it a riot. A necessary culling of disorder. I was a watchman of Oakhaven, twenty years of service bought with a steady hand and a silent tongue. My name was Elias Thorne, and I wanted the ink on that page to tell...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant NightmareThe damp air of the cellar tasted of wet stone and old fear. Elias clutched the silver reliquary against his chest, its weight a cold anchor in his trembling hands. He had stolen it, yes, but only to prove it was not what the Abbot claimed. Above him, the heavy oak door rattled in its frame, the sound of a lock being turned echoing through the darkness. The Abbot’s voice dropped from the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek