0 Commenti
0 condivisioni
2 Views
0 Anteprima
Elenco
Discover new ideas, create new connections and make new friends
-
Effettua l'accesso per mettere mi piace, condividere e commentare!
-
The Golden MasterThe blood on the stone floor of the high chamber was still wet, pooling in the cracks between the flagstones with a dark, viscous sheen. Elias knelt beside the body of Thomas, his apprentice of three years, whose chest heaved with a rhythm that had ceased to be human. The air tasted of ozone and burnt copper, the scent of a magical backlash that had torn through the workshop and into the keep’s...0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 2 Views 0 Anteprima
-
The Wistful DinnerThe blacksmith’s hammer counted the seconds as Aldric stood in the doorway, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. One strike, two strikes, the iron ringing out against the anvil like a funeral bell. Thomas did not look up, his eyes fixed on the glowing billet of steel, but the air in the cellar grew thick with the smell of hot coal and something else, something sweet and cloying that clung...0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 2 Views 0 Anteprima
-
The Wistful CipherThorne. The name was called out by the wind, or perhaps by my own fraying nerves, but it felt like a summons from the dead. I stood on the corner of Miller Street, the fog pressing against my chest like a wet wool blanket, and checked my watch. 4:14 AM. The apothecary’s door was oak, banded with iron that had rusted into a brown crust, and I had the key in my pocket, a brass thing I had stolen...0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 2 Views 0 Anteprima
-
The Golden CircuitBlackwood, October 14, 1893 I am writing this by the light of a tallow candle that smells of rendered fat and old smoke, my hand trembling not from the cold, but from the vibration in the small golden disc I keep wrapped in cloth inside my shirt. It hums against my ribs, a low, persistent thrum that I can feel in my teeth, and it is the only proof I have left that I did not desert my post at...0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 2 Views 0 Anteprima
-
The Faded DustThe white lily sat in the bottom of the drawer, its petals unblemished by the soot that coated the walls of the Imperial Railway administrative office, a stark, impossible purity that Elias Thorne checked every morning with a reverence that bordered on the religious. It was October 1904, and the air in the building was thick with the smell of coal dust and damp wool, yet the flower remained...0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 2 Views 0 Anteprima
-
The Pale BannerThe ink is still wet on the page, black and slick against the rough grain of the paper, as I tell you, Mother, that the winter will not take us this year, that I have signed the contract with the railway men to haul timber from the upper ridges, a job that pays in gold coins rather than the stale, crumbling notes of the mine, and that by the time the first frost bites at the windowpane, there...0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 2 Views 0 Anteprima
-
The Pale ExileThe seal is heavy in your palm, cold enough to bite through the leather of your glove, a weight of brass and authority that has defined your worth for thirty-two years. You are Elias Thorne, a border warden of the northern pass, and you want nothing more than to secure your pension by proving this stretch of wilderness is secure before your retirement date in three months. Your hand trembles, a...0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 2 Views 0 Anteprima
-
The Wistful AtlasThe map weighed four ounces, folded into a square no larger than a playing card, but it held the weight of the valley in Elias Thorne’s hands. He stood on the iron grating of the Blackwater Gorge bridge, the wind pulling at his wool coat, and watched the mist rise off the river below. His fingers were stiff from the cold, but they trembled with a different kind of heat, the kind that comes from...0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 2 Views 0 Anteprima
-
The Faded AtticThe ledger showed four hours of labor, but my hands had been shaking so badly I had counted the stitches in the torn lining of my coat three times before I could stop, each thread pulling tight against the skin like a wire meant to hold a body together. I am Silas, a constable of Oakhaven, thirty-two years old, and the air in this town does not merely smell of wet iron and rot, it tastes of it,...0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 2 Views 0 Anteprima
English
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek