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 SkylineThe rain lashed against the high, arched windows of St. Jude’s Hospital, a relentless, rhythmic drumming that seemed to vibrate through the floorboards and into the marrow of Elara’s bones as she stood in the doorway of Room 404, watching Thomas sleep. He was thirty-two, the same age as her, yet the hollows beneath his cheekbones spoke of a man who had lived a century in the span of a single...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful SilenceThe leather of the coat was cold, a chill that did not come from the air but from the hide itself, seeping into Elias’s palms as he folded the heavy garment over his arm. He stood in the center of the empty parlor, the dust motes dancing in the slant of afternoon light that cut through the bare window frames, and felt the familiar, low hum of the object against his skin. It was a whisper,...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden SuspectThe coin in Elias Thorne’s pocket was warm. It had been warm for three days, a persistent, localized heat that burned against his thigh like a coal wrapped in silk. He sat in the anteroom of the Ministry of Internal Revenue, the air conditioning humming a low, mechanical drone that seemed to vibrate in his teeth. He was fifty-two, and in six months he would be mandatory retirement, a date that...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful WitnessThe ink in the scriptorium did not dry; it breathed, a slow, viscous pulse that matched the rhythm of Elias Thorne’s own shallow heartbeats as he hunched over the obsidian desk, his fingers trembling not from cold but from the electric, illicit thrill of the Severed Codex whispering its secrets directly into the wet gray matter of his mind. He was thirty, a man of restless, frivolous charm who...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden QuestThe loaf was warm in my hands, the crust splitting with a sound like a knuckle cracking. It smelled of honey and ash, a scent that had become the only constant in our lives since the debt collectors took the last of our silver. I am Elias Thorne, forty-two years old, a guard of the King’s household, and I held that bread as if it were a weapon, though it was merely a loaf. The light in our...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful ShowThe bridge was locked, the iron gate rusted into a permanent grimace, and Lord Aldous stood behind it with a hand resting on the hilt of a sword that had not seen blood in decades. You stood on the muddy bank, your satchel heavy with ink and vellum, your boots caked in the red clay of the lowlands, and you told him that you were only a scribe, a wanderer, and that your brother Thomas had...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded ParadoxThe frost did not come from the sky, but from the inside of the clock, a creeping white rot that turned the brass gears into brittle bones. I am Elias Thorne, and I have spent forty-two years listening to the tick of Oakhaven’s Great Bell, a sound that once felt like the heartbeat of the village and now feels like a slow, dying rattle. My sister Elara lies in the room below the tower, her...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded ChronicleThe ledger lay open on the workbench, its pages swollen with damp, and I counted the hours of labor I had lost to the debt. Twelve years of silence, twelve years of mending other men’s time while my own stood still, and now the arithmetic was simple enough to break a man’s heart: the chronometer was worth forty pounds, and the landlord wanted forty pounds by Friday or I was out. I ran my thumb...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale ExileThe dream was always the same, a precise architectural failure that occurred in the space between sleep and waking. I stood before the boundary wall of the Imperial Mint, that great iron-and-stone perimeter that defined the limit of our world, and watched it dissolve. It did not crumble; it simply ceased to be, turning into a fine, gray ash that drifted into the fog without weight or sound. I...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek