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 silver brooch did not shine, nor did it reflect the flickering tallow of the watchroom, but instead it seemed to absorb the light, humming with a cold static that prickled against Elias Thorne’s fingertips like the memory of a distant storm. He sat in the corner of the cramped office, a scribe for the City Watch, his quill hovering over a ledger of petty thefts, while the object lay on the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful SilenceThe chisel snapped with a sound like a dry bone breaking, the thin steel shattering against the dense white grain of the alabaster. Elias Thorne did not flinch. He stood in the center of the workshop, the dust of the estate hanging in the grey afternoon light, his knuckles white around the handle of the broken tool. The final panel of the family crest, the one piece that would seal the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded RuinThe chisel slipped, biting a thin sliver of porcelain from the cheekbone of the mask, and Elias Thorne caught the fragment before it could shatter further on the steel table. His fingers, stained with the gray dust of three days’ labor, trembled not from fatigue but from the sudden, cold pressure of the whisper that had just brushed against the inside of his skull. In the Ministry of Memory,...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale CircusThe fog in Blackwood did not lift; it merely thickened, a gray wool drawn tight around the industrial throats of the foundries. You are Elias Thorne, a constable of thirty-four years, and the weight of the Pale Lantern in your coat is heavier than your uniform. Inside your home, the air is thin, smelling of antiseptic and decay, as you watch your daughter Lily struggle for breath. Her cheeks...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded QuadrantThe solstice feast was a lie wrapped in roasted pork and stale wine. I sat at the head of the long table in the town hall of Oakhaven, my hands shaking so violently that the crystal goblet in my grip trembled like a leaf in a gale. Across from me, the merchants ate with the greedy, satisfied silence of men who had just secured their winter contracts. I watched them. I wanted to sign the deed...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful MirrorThe iron was cold, and Thomas Bradshaw’s hands would not stop shaking. It was the year of our Lord 1342, and the frost had crept into the marrow of the village of Oakhaven, a settlement of thatched roofs and stone walls where the air tasted of woodsmoke and impending death. Thomas stood in the center of his forge, the anvil before him a black slab of indifference, while in the room above, his...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant BladeElias Thorne woke with the taste of chalk dust in his mouth, the dry, gritty sensation of limestone grinding against the soft tissue of his tongue, a phantom pain that lingered long after the dream of Mara standing in the crumbling stone arch of their abandoned homestead had dissolved into the gray light of his small, rented office. He was a border patrol officer, a man who had spent two...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale LetterThe letter was warm. This was the first impossibility, a tactile anomaly that defied the damp, rotting chill of the sorting cellar where Elias Thorne had spent the last three years hunched over the conveyor belt, his fingers numb from the winter air that seeped through the brickwork. It was a standard envelope, cream-colored, the ink slightly faded but distinct, addressed in a hand he knew...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded GuestThe dream was always the same: a great oak, stripped of bark, standing in a field of white ash. Elias Thorne woke with the taste of rot in his mouth and a tremor in his fingers that would not settle. He was forty-five, an archivist of the second grade, and his hands were supposed to be steady enough to handle vellum without tearing. He sat up in the narrow cot of his staff quarters, the walls...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek