0 Comments
0 Shares
3 Views
0 Reviews
Directory
Discover new ideas, create new connections and make new friends
-
Please log in to like, share and comment!
-
The Distant SummerThe mud of the backyard had turned to a thick, sucking paste under the weight of the recent rains, mirroring the viscous dread that had pooled in Elias Thorne’s chest for the last seventy-two hours. He stood on the warped porch of the house where he had been born, his fingers white-knuckled around a rusted iron key, the metal biting into his palm as if trying to draw blood to seal the pact he...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant PromiseThe letter from the university registrar lay on the desk, the paper thin and yellowed, the ink smudged where my thumb had rested on it for too long. It was a formal notice of review, a polite way of saying that if I did not produce the final geological survey of the Kilmarnock Moors by November first, my tenure would be revoked and I would be left with nothing but my debts and my name. I signed...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful SilenceThe soot did not fall in Harrowgate; it hung, a suspended grey ocean that swallowed the sun before it could touch the cobblestones. Elias Thorne, Sergeant of the Night Watch, stood before the iron gate of the Ashworth Ironworks, his breath pluming in the cold November air, clutching a letter from the Pension Board that demanded proof of death for his son, Arthur. He had spent twenty years...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden MirrorThe bill for the funeral arrangements lay on the kitchen table, the ink still wet, a heavy gray weight against the white paper. Clara Vance sat in the chair, her cough rattling in her chest like loose gravel, and refused to sign it, her hand trembling as she pushed the pen away. The cost was four hundred dollars, a sum that represented three months of Julian’s detective salary, money that was...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale TowerThe ink was cold, and the nib of Elias Thorne’s pen scraped against the vellum with a sound like a fingernail dragging across a chalkboard, a friction that seemed to vibrate through the bone of his left hand, which was no longer entirely bone but a pale, rigid extension of the tower’s spire. He held the quill with his right hand, the only one that retained the flexibility of flesh, while his...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale ShadowsElias Thorne’s hand trembled as he reached for the cold steel of the interrogation table, the metal biting into his palm with a sharp, metallic chill that cut through the sterile air of Room 4B. He was forty-eight years old, and his knees had begun to buckle three seconds ago, a slow, humiliating surrender to gravity that he could not mask. The agent across from him, a young man with a clean...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale PathIt is the damp. That is what I told her, when she lifted her head from the pillow, her cheeks hollowed out by the wasting sickness that had held her for three months. The light in the room was thin, a grey wash that did not reach the corners, and the air tasted of sulfur and old ash. I stood by the bed, my hands still smelling of the chemicals I had used, my fingers trembling not from cold but...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale TaleThe letter lay on the oak desk, its seal broken, the ink still wet and dark. Elias read the Abbot’s words for the third time, his fingers tracing the jagged edges of the parchment. Tenure was denied. The winter solstice deadline remained, but the reward was stripped away. He folded the paper into a tight square and placed it in his sleeve, the weight of it pressing against his thigh like a...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded FrontierThe needle pierces the silk, pulling a thread of gold through the weave with a sound like a dry bone cracking. You do not look up from the frame, your eyes fixed on the tension of the fabric, the way the light catches the fraying edge of the hem where Julian’s name was once embroidered in a script so fine it vanished with the rest of him. The workshop is cold, a damp chill that seeps through...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek