0 Commenti
0 condivisioni
0 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 Distant PromiseThe fog in Blackwood City did not roll in; it seeped up from the cobblestones, thick as milk and tasting of copper. Sergeant Elias Thorne stood in the alley behind the Town Hall, his knuckles white around the strap of his belt, staring at the barred window of the Quarantine Ward. Three days. Three days since they had dragged Silas, his younger brother, into that stone box. The boy had coughed...0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 0 Views 0 Anteprima
-
The Golden HarborThe ink in my pen was black, but the light filtering through the dust-choked windows of Blackwood Manor was a sickly, pulsating amber that seemed to breathe with the rhythm of my own failing heart. I had come to this decaying estate in the autumn of 1893 with a single, desperate purpose: to transcribe the final inventory of the Blackwood holdings for the creditors, a task that would pay the...0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 0 Views 0 Anteprima
-
The Wistful AshesThe dust in the Hall of Judgments did not settle; it hovered, a suspended galaxy of grey particulate that smelled faintly of ozone and old copper. Magistrate Elara Vane stood before the High Council, her fingers white-knuckled around a glass vial no larger than a thimble, her eyes fixed on the face of Chief Justice Thomas Bradshaw. He sat at the apex of the semi-circular bench, his robes heavy...0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 0 Views 0 Anteprima
-
The Pale TaleThe pale silk scarf lay in Elias’s hands, cold and damp, as if it had just been pulled from a well. He sat at the kitchen table, the fabric bunched in his fist, while the refrigerator hummed its low, indifferent note against the silence of the house. It was 4:00 AM, and he was awake because of the dream again: Mara, standing in the hallway, the silk wrapped so tightly around her throat that her...0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 0 Views 0 Anteprima
-
The Pale DanceThe stone walls of the Abbey of St. Jude wept with condensation, a cold sweat that smelled of wet wool and old blood. Elias sat in the corner of the scriptorium, his knees drawn up to his chest, the shard of silver-glass trembling in his fingers. It was a jagged piece of the great hall mirror, broken three days ago when the first volley of arrows struck the east window. He held it up, angling...0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 0 Views 0 Anteprima
-
The Distant Machine14 October. The wind has not stopped for three days. It does not howl; it grinds. The sound is in the teeth, in the marrow, a constant, abrasive friction against the walls of the outpost. I am forty-two years old, and I have forgotten the sound of silence. I am writing this by the light of a single bulb that flickers like a dying heartbeat. My hands are numb, not from the cold, though the cold...0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 0 Views 0 Anteprima
-
The Wistful CampusThe demolition crew’s foreman, a man with a face like a clenched fist and a clipboard that served as his only shield against the chaos of the atrium, shouted Elias Thorne’s name across the polished marble floor, the sound cracking against the high, vaulted ceiling where dust motes danced in the slanting afternoon light. Elias did not move, nor did he raise his voice; he simply planted his feet,...0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 1 Views 0 Anteprima
-
The Golden MirrorThe mirror in my cell does not reflect me. It reflects Arthur. I write this to you, Elara, from the cold stone of Blackwood Asylum, where the fog presses against the windows like a living thing, hungry and grey. It is November, 1893. I am twenty-two years old, a clerk of the Ministry of Works, and I am confined here for what the doctors call "acute hallucinations." But you know, as I know, that...0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 1 Views 0 Anteprima
-
The Distant JourneyThe letter lay on the desk, the ink still wet where Elias Thorne had signed it, a small, dark stain that looked less like a signature and more like a bruise. He was forty years old, a sergeant in the border patrol, and he wanted only to be a colonel, to stand on the other side of the desk and dismiss the complaints of men who could not hold a line. The fog outside the window was thick, a grey...0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 2 Views 0 Anteprima
English
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek