0 Comments
0 Shares
8 Views
0 Reviews
Directory
Discover new ideas, create new connections and make new friends
-
Please log in to like, share and comment!
-
The Distant GardenThe name hangs in the air, sharp as a dropped glass. "Thorne." You look up from the ledger. The ink is still wet on the final column, a dark smear that looks like a bruise. Mr. Vane stands in the doorway of your office, his tie knotted tight, his face the color of old plaster. He does not enter. He simply stands there, blocking the light from the corridor, and the shadow he casts falls across...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden FarceThe invoice lay on the mahogany table, its edges crisp and white against the dark wood. Elias Thorne stared at the figures, the ink sharp and unforgiving. He was forty-two years old, and his lungs felt like they were filled with wet sand. The banquet hall around him hummed with the clatter of silver and the low murmur of men who had money and did not know how to spend it. He was the master of...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant NightmareThe ink bled through the page before Elias Thorne could close the book, a dark, wet smear that looked less like a stain and more like a bruise forming on the skin of the paper. He sat in the high-backed chair in the King’s private library, the leather creaking under the weight of his forty-five-year-old body, and watched the letters of the text dissolve into a black sludge that smelled of...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden MazeThe name was called out from the shadow of the gatehouse, a rough bark that cut through the morning mist. "Aldric!" It was the voice of the castle steward, old and tired, calling after the knight as he mounted his destrier. Sir Aldric, forty years old and carrying the weight of a failing heart, did not turn. He was leaving Oakhaven, a crumbling fortress perched on the edge of the Ashen Wastes,...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded PortraitThe varnish had been peeling in long, sickly strips for six years, ever since the roof leak in ’87, and Elias Thorne counted the layers of grime like a miser counting coins in a dark room, each layer a year of neglect, a year of the Blackwood estate rotting from the inside out. He stood alone in the east wing, the air thin and cold, smelling of wet plaster and the stale, sweet decay of old oil...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden CircuitOctober 14, 2024. "Elie, come inside, you’re letting the cold in." I ignored my father’s voice, which drifted from the kitchen door where the smell of burnt toast and damp wool hung thick in the air. I was on my knees in the dirt, my trowel biting into the soil of Plot 4, the community garden bed that had been my mother’s before the chemo took her strength and then her life. The earth was wrong...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale LetterThe ink is wet, Elias. Do you see it? It is not drying. It is weeping." I looked down at the parchment in my hands. The letters I had written for the Magistrate, simple lines of debt acknowledgment, were bleeding into the fiber. The paper felt heavy, soaked through with a moisture that smelled of iron and old rain. I was thirty-two years old, a scribe of the Third House in Oakhaven, and I had...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded ChronicleThe mill clock struck seven, a sound like a hammer striking iron, and Arthur Vane counted the hours on his fingers. One, two, three. He was thirty years old, a clerk with ink under his nails and a hollow space in his chest where a future used to be. He wanted the ledger position. He wanted it with a ferocity that frightened him, a desire that felt less like ambition and more like a hunger for...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded AlibiThe ink had dried for seven hours, a brittle, black crust on the tip of the quill, yet you had not set it down. You were counting the seconds, or perhaps the years, it was difficult to tell when time in the Grand Library stretched like taffy under the weight of dust and silence. You were Elara, thirty-two, and you had served the institution for nineteen years, a duration that should have...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek