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 Golden FarceThe steel burin sat in my palm, cold and sharp as a razor. It was a fine tool, etched with the Mint’s crest, but my grip was loose, my knuckles white against the dark wood of the desk. I was Elias Thorne, forty-two years old, a master engraver in the Imperial Mint, and I had three days to finish the King’s new seal. If I failed, the debt collectors would take Mara. The rule was simple, though...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant TempleThe seal was cracked, the wax black and cold in Thomas’s palm. "Brother Thomas." The voice came from the doorway, low and gravelly, cutting through the damp chill of the scriptorium. Thomas looked up from his work. His mother had been dead for three years, buried in the crypt beneath the nave, but the silver reliquary still sat on his desk, a cold weight against the wood. He had not touched it...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant MetropolisThe morning light in the fortress of Ashworth was a heavy thing, falling in slabs of grey across the stone floor, and I counted the hours it took for the dampness to settle into my bones, a slow accumulation of weight that no amount of firewood could banish. It was the twelfth of October, 1893, and I had been Captain Elias Thorne for twenty years, a tenure that had hardened my spine as much as...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded PortraitThe ink in the pot had dried to a crust of black glass, a hard, brittle skin that cracked under the tip of my quill with a sound like a small bone snapping. I counted the drops I forced out, one, two, three, each one falling with the heavy, reluctant weight of a debt unpaid, as I worked to finish the census ledger for the walled town of Oakhaven. My hands, usually steady enough to trace the...0 Comments 0 Shares 5 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale LetterThe quill slips from your trembling hand, the ink bleeding into the parchment like a dark wound that refuses to clot, and you are already awake, the cold sweat of the dream still clinging to your skin as the first grey light of October filters through the high, arched windows of your scriptorium. You are Elias, forty years of your life spent in the service of the Abbey of St. Jude, and for the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant WhispersYou’re sure the box is in the attic? The voice came from the hallway, dry and raspy, like a throat clearing after a long cough. Elias did not turn around. He kept his eyes fixed on the peeling floral wallpaper, the pink roses faded to the color of old bandages, and the way the afternoon light caught the dust motes swirling in the stagnant air. The smell of the house hit him first, a thick,...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful SkylineThe pension review form lay open on the desk, a sheet of heavy, cream-colored stock that smelled faintly of the vanilla-scented toner used in the basement print room, and Elias Thorne stared at the line item for "Methodological Consistency," which was left blank, waiting for a signature that he did not yet know if he could give, while the sound of the air conditioning unit in the corner of his...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded SutraElias, the scribe, was called by name in the echoing hall, the sound of his own voice stripped away by the sheer volume of the court’s silence. He stood before the high throne, where King Alaric sat wrapped in furs that smelled of damp wool and old fear, while the plague outside the castle walls turned the streets into open sewers. Elias had come from the conquered province of Veldt, a refugee...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded FrequencyThe hum of the generator was a low, persistent thrum that vibrated in the teeth, a sound that Elias Thorne had learned to interpret as a kind of breath. It was November 14th, 1912, and the air in the Imperial Court’s sub-basement laboratory smelled of ozone, damp wool, and the sharp, metallic tang of the new vacuum tubes he was calibrating. He adjusted the dial on the transmitter, his fingers...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek