0 Comments
0 Shares
1 Views
0 Reviews
Directory
Discover new ideas, create new connections and make new friends
-
Please log in to like, share and comment!
-
The Golden MasterThe cough started as a tick in Elias’s chest, a dry, rattling sound that grew louder with every stroke of the quill. He was forty-two, though the hollows beneath his cheekbones made him look like a man who had already walked through a grave. In the damp, stone-walled scriptorium of the Abbey of St. Jude, the air tasted of wet wool and old ink. Elias held the Golden Master, the great illuminated...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant NightmareThe silver medal sat in Elias Thorne’s palm, cold and heavy as a stone from the riverbed. It was a relic of the border wars, etched with the crest of the county, and it had not seen the light of day in twenty years. Outside the window of his study, the rain lashed against the glass, a relentless drumming that seemed to vibrate through the floorboards of the ancestral manor. Elias turned the...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant TempleThe steam from the Ironworks rose in a white plume against the grey sky of 1912, a constant, suffocating breath that marked the boundary of Arthur Vane’s world. He stood on the platform, his coat buttoned to the chin, watching the men file out of the gates. They moved with a sluggish, heavy gait that Arthur interpreted not as exhaustion, but as defiance. He was thirty years old, a foreman by...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden MythThe notice lay on the workbench, its paper stiff with the humidity of the kiln room. Elias Thorne read the ink twice, the words blurring as his left hand began its familiar, violent shudder. The Guild Master had revoked his license for "gross negligence and instability of craft." He folded the letter, his fingers white-knuckled against the leather glove that bound his wrist. He did not cry. He...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden GreenhouseThe notice was pinned to the door of my mother’s kitchen with a rusted nail that had corroded through the wood, its head flaking away in flakes of orange dust as I tried to peel it back, the paper brittle and damp with the humidity of the October fog that clings to the valley floor of Harrowgate. It was a standard municipal form, Type 44-B, printed on the heavy, cream-colored stock that the...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale ExileThe ledger lay open in Elias Thorne’s hands, its pages stiff with damp and the faint, sweet rot of old paper, and he held it the way a man holds a bird that might fly away at any second, his fingers trembling not from the cold but from the sheer, crushing weight of the debt that bound him to the town of Oakhaven. It was November, 1912, and the air in the municipal archive smelled of coal smoke...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden MasterThe first box was forty-two inches wide. I measured it twice. The second was forty. The third, the one holding the microfilm reels, was narrow and deep, a coffin for data. I packed with the precision of a man who knows he is being watched, though the archive was empty. The fluorescent tubes overhead flickered, a dying buzz that synced with the headache behind my left eye. In the corner of my...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded RiverThorne. The name was a slap. Elias Thorne felt it land on the back of his neck, a ghost of the many times he had been called to attention, to action, to the line. He stood in the center of the room, the crystal chandelier above him refracting the chandelier light into sharp, stinging shards on his skin. The air was thick, heavy with the scent of roasted pheasant and expensive perfume, a cloying...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful CipherThe ink was still wet on the parchment, a glossy black smear that caught the tallow light from the chandelier above, when Thomas Bradshaw realized his fingers were trembling. He was twelve years old, the junior scribe in the King’s Chancery, and he was holding a document that had been sealed with red wax three days prior, a text that the High Chancellor had forbidden anyone to open under...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek