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 AtlasThe air tasted of ozone and old rust. It was a Tuesday, or perhaps a Wednesday. Time moved strangely here. I checked my watch. The hands were frozen at 4:15. I tapped the glass. It did not tick. I stood in the control room. The walls were curved metal. Blue light pulsed from the floor. It was beautiful. It was cold. My name is Arthur. I am a maintenance engineer. I fix things. I keep them...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale CircusThe dream was always the same, a slow hemorrhage of black ink weeping from the limestone walls of the Palace Archive, pooling on the floor in a dark, viscous tide that smelled of iron and old paper. I woke with the cold, spectral weight of a hand resting on my left shoulder, a touch that had no source in the room but felt as real as the linen sheet beneath my cheek. I sat up in the dark, the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant SummerThe air in the hall of the Oakhaven Town Hall hung thick with the smell of roasted goose and stale tobacco, a heavy fog that clung to the wool of Sergeant Elias Thorne’s uniform. He stood near the edge of the dance floor, his hands clasped behind his back, watching the councilmen move through the crowd like sharks in warm water. The annual harvest feast was a ritual of plenty, a celebration of...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful ShowThe ledger in my pocket weighed four ounces and twelve pence, a precise calculation of my debt to Mr. Halloway for the locket that held Martha’s hair. I had worked the night shift for three weeks, my fingers blackened by soot, to secure the loan from the foreman, but the iron in my stomach did not ease with the coins in my hand. Oakhaven in 1893 was a town that breathed steam and exhaled rust,...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale TowerThe first ledger in the Pale Tower collection weighed four pounds, twelve ounces, a specific gravity that Elias Thorne noted in his logbook with the same detached precision he applied to the cost of his heating bill, which had risen by twelve percent since the heating oil price hike. He was forty-two, a tenure-track archivist at the St. Jude’s Institute, and he had three months to catalog the...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden FarceThe candle had burned down to a stub of tallow, leaving a ring of wax on the silver saucer that Elias Thorne counted in his mind as he stared at the ceiling, one, two, three, counting the hours until dawn with the same grim precision he had used to count the miles of the march for twenty years. The air in the manor was thick with the damp chill of the stone walls, a cold that seeped into the...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden CrossingThe rain in St. Jude’s did not wash things clean; it only made the dust slicker. You arrive with a leather-bound ledger in your hands, twelve years old and shaking, the rain dripping from your hair onto the stone steps. The door opens not to a welcome, but to the cold, grey face of Headmaster Thorne. He looks at you, then at the book, and his lip curls in a sneer that is older than his face....0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant TempleThe first loaf was cut at precisely noon, the ceremonial knife gliding through the dense, golden crust with a sound like a bone snapping under a boot. Elias Thorne stood at the edge of the long mahogany table, counting the pieces in his head as the High Council members lifted their forks. One for the Chair, one for the Vice-Chair, one for the three senior judges, and one for the guest of honor,...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant TempleThe dream was always the same, a recurring fracture in the porcelain mind of Elias Thorne, a thirty-year-old clerk in the damp, fungal kingdom of Oth. He woke with the taste of wet clay in his mouth, the phantom weight of his father’s heirloom pressing against his chest, a cracked vessel that had once held the family’s fortune and now held only his debt. The opposing force was not a person but...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek