0 Comments
0 Shares
2 Views
0 Reviews
Directory
Discover new ideas, create new connections and make new friends
-
Please log in to like, share and comment!
-
The Distant Threshold14th October, 1923. The leather case of my drafting compass lies open on the table, its brass arms splayed like the legs of a dead insect, and I am packing my final set of pencils, the lead worn down to nubs that will not last the journey. I am leaving Oakhaven because my mother’s cough has turned a wet, rattling thing that shakes the walls of our cottage at night, and the debt for her medicine...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant ThresholdThe termination order lay on the steel table, its edges sharp enough to cut. Elias Thorne stared at the document, the ink still wet, the signature of Director Vance looping with bureaucratic indifference across the bottom. It was a clean death, of a sort. No blood, no violence, just a form filled out in triplicate, a severance package calculated to the cent, and a final warning that any attempt...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded ShieldThe letter lies on the table, the paper yellowed and soft at the edges from five years of being folded and unfolded. It is addressed to Clara, though she has been dead since the winter of 2019. You sign it. The ink is blue, cheap, the kind that bleeds if you press too hard. Outside, the wind is picking up, rattling the window frame of your apartment in the old district. You are thirty-two. You...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful WitnessThe letter lay on the steel bench, its edges crisp against the gritty surface of the workroom floor, and you read it twice, the ink drying under the harsh fluorescent lights before your eyes could fully process the weight of the words. It was a standard rejection form, Form 7-B, printed in the same sterile, sans-serif typeface as the rest of the Mint’s bureaucratic machinery, but the reason for...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale GardenElias, get up. The voice came from the hallway, thin and sharp, cutting through the thick, damp air of the bedroom. It was not a request. It was the sound of a man who had not slept and whose patience had been worn down to the fiber of a fraying rope. Elias opened his eyes to the grey light filtering through the curtains, which were heavy with the weight of the November fog pressing against the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful AshesThe intake form lay on the steel table, the ink still wet where Elias had signed it with a shaking hand. He stared at the signature, *E. Thorne*, and felt the paper’s grain against his thumb, rough and dry. Across the room, the Head Warden, a man named Silas, stood with his hands clasped behind his back. Silas did not look angry. He looked tired, the way a farmer looks at a field after a long...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful VoyageThe wool coat sat on the chair, heavy and dark as a wet stone. Elias Thorne stood before it, his hands trembling slightly as he adjusted the cuffs, pulling the fabric tight against his wrists. It was a size ten, cut for a woman’s frame, and on his broad, stooped shoulders it looked less like clothing and more like a shroud. He was fifty-eight years old, a retired archivist who had spent three...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded ApartmentThe first ledger weighed four pounds, the second three and a half, the third barely two, as if the weight of the truth had been siphoned out of the paper over the decades, leaving only the brittle husk of what had once been recorded. I set the third volume on the desk in the administrative wing of the Blackwood Estate, my fingers trembling not from the cold, but from the specific, metallic...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful VoyageThorne. The name hit me like a slap, sharp and cold, cutting through the fog that hung low over the frozen river. I looked up. Kael was standing on the far bank, his coat soaked, his face a mask of grey exhaustion. He wasn’t running. He was waiting. My hand tightened on the butt of my truncheon, the wood slick with the sweat of my palm. I wanted him. I wanted the arrest, the paperwork, the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek