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 Pale VerdictThe ledger showed four thousand, two hundred and twelve rivets, each one a small, rusted promise kept by the iron frame of Blackwood Mill. I counted them again, my pencil scratching against the paper, the sound sharp and singular in the dusty silence of the control room, where the air tasted of wet wool and old grease. I am Arthur Vane, senior structural engineer for the Department of Public...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant Ghost"Put it back where you found it, Elias. That is not part of the collection." Martha’s voice was low, barely rising above the hum of the ventilation system that rattled in the ceiling of the basement archive. Elias did not move. His hands were buried in the folds of a water-stained wool coat that sat on the steel table, its fabric heavy with a dampness that seemed to seep from the inside out....0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant GhostThe champagne flutes clinked against the crystal rim of the chandelier, a sound that cut through the low hum of the string quartet in the corner. Cecily Sedgwick stood at the head of the table, her spine straight, her hands resting flat on the mahogany, feeling the grain of the wood under her fingertips. She was fifty-eight years old, a retired Major in the Directorate of Military Intelligence,...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful MirrorThe count began at dawn, as it always did. Thomas Bradshaw stood before the long oak table in the administrative wing, his fingers moving over the ledger with a mechanical precision that had worn the skin of his thumbs raw. There were forty-two sacks of grain to be logged, forty-two heavy burlap weights that smelled of damp earth and stale corn. He marked each one. One. Two. Three. The...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant BladeThe rust on the iron blade counted three inches of decay, a measurement Thomas Bradshaw made with a thumb that smelled of wet wool and cellar damp. It was November, 1912, and the farm house in the valley stood like a broken tooth against the grey sky. Thomas held the blade up, the metal cold against his palm, and watched the wind strip the leaves from the apple trees in a slow, peeling motion....0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded AtticThe memo was three lines long, typed on the beige paper that smelled of dust and stale coffee. It stated that my file for the Warden’s position would be reviewed by the end of the quarter. I held it up to the fluorescent light, checking for smudges, my fingers damp with the cold that always seeped through the concrete floor of the break room. The heating system had failed again, a known issue...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful Saga"Put it in the trench, Thorne. Now." Sergeant Miller’s voice was flat, stripped of anything resembling sympathy. He stood by the foundation of the new iron gate, his hands tucked into the pockets of his wool coat, watching the frost bite into the fresh concrete. I held the silver locket in my left hand. It was cold, not the cold of metal left in the snow, but a deep, living chill that seeped...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant GhostThe letter sat on the desk, the ink still wet, the signature of Director Halloway sprawling across the bottom like a bruise. You read it twice, the words blurring into a single, jagged line: *Your continued presence in the archive is a embarrassment to the Institute.* It was a dismissal, but it was also an invitation to fight. You folded the paper, tucked it into your waistcoat, and reached for...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful ShowThe iron key bit into the lock with a sound like a bone snapping. Aldric’s hand trembled, not from the cold, but from the dream that had peeled him from sleep an hour prior, where his wife Elara had stood in their bedchamber, her torso fractured into a mosaic of prisms, each shard reflecting a different, terrified facet of his own guilt. He was forty years old, a knight of the Iron Guard, and...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek