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 CrownThe deed lay on the kitchen table, its edges curling slightly in the damp air, a document that promised the salvation of Elias Thorne’s marriage and the ruin of his soul if he failed to sign it. He stared at the ink, black and wet as a bruise, while the rain hammered against the single pane of glass in the window, a relentless percussion that matched the thudding in his temples. The house was...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden RitualThe itch starts at dawn, a tiny, burning pinprick on the palm of your left hand. You rub it against the rough wool of your tunic, but the sensation only sharpens, a warning from the city itself. You are Elias, a guard of the Outer Ward, and you have only one goal: to touch the bleeding stone before the fog lifts. The stones of Oria are strange. They weep a thick, molten gold that hardens into...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale TaleThe ink was the wrong shade of blue. Elias stared at the blotch blooming on the parchment, a dark, wet bruise that seemed to pulse in time with the dampness seeping through his wool coat. It was not a technical error, not a spill of India ink from the vial he kept in his breast pocket, but something that looked less like pigment and more like a vein of iron-rich blood. He capped the pen, his...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant JourneyThe entry in the ledger was dated October 14th. Elias Thorne read it, his finger tracing the ink, and then he signed the line below. The signature was shaky, the letters of his name jagged like a broken tooth. He was fifty-eight years old, a senior archivist with thirty years of service to the town of Oakhaven, and he was dying. The diagnosis was early-onset dementia, a thief that entered...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded ShieldThe ink on the envelope was wet, though it had been sealed for three days. Elias Thorne pressed his thumb against the wax, a small, dark smear spreading across the red seal. He did not look up. His hands were shaking, a tremor that started in the wrists and worked its way up to the elbows, the kind of shake that comes from holding a heavy object too long. The letter was for his brother, Julian....0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded ShieldThe hum starts in the teeth. It is a low, sub-audible thrum, a vibration that travels up the jawbone and settles behind the eyes. You press your thumb against the filing cabinet, the metal cold and indifferent. The Silent Wing is not silent. It sings. You have been listening for six weeks, cataloging the boxes that no one else wants to touch. Your pension is eighteen months away. You need this...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant ClueThe rain lashed the high windows of the infirmary, blurring the grey stone of the palace into a smear of wet slate. Elias Whitmore stood before the basin, scrubbing his hands with lye soap until the skin was raw and red. He was thirty years old, a man who had spent the last decade measuring pulses and cataloguing fevers for the Crown, and he was tired. His pension papers were signed, sealed,...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful CrossroadsThe ledger of the realm’s boundaries required three hundred and twelve hours of precise, unbroken labor, a calculation Elias Thorne had performed for the last three years with the grim arithmetic of a man counting down to his own execution. The workshop smelled of iron gall ink and dried lavender, a scent that had long since seeped into the grain of the oak tables and the pores of his skin, but...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant GardenThe stone of the manor groaned under the weight of its own decay, a sound Elias had come to mistake for the settling of his own bones as he sat in the high-backed chair that had once belonged to his father. He was seventy-two years old, and the mortgage statement on the desk before him was a red smear of ink that seemed to pulse with a life of its own, demanding a payment he did not have and...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek