0 Comments
0 Shares
0 Views
0 Reviews
Directory
Discover new ideas, create new connections and make new friends
-
Please log in to like, share and comment!
-
The Faded BouquetThe tincture weighed exactly four ounces. You counted the drops into the glass vial, one, two, three, until the liquid pooled in the bottom like a dark coin. It was the third dose of the week. Your sister, Elara, lay in the bed by the window, her skin translucent as parchment, her breathing a shallow rattle that stopped when the house settled. You were a clerk in the manor, a man of ledgers and...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful IncenseThe form was Form 7-B, Standard Incident Report, printed on heavy stock that felt like wet sand under Elias Thorne’s thumb. He sat at the folding table in the guard shack, the wind whistling through the gaps in the wooden slats, and stared at the line that read: *Nature of Anomaly.* The pen in his hand was a standard issue Parker, its clip bent from years of being jammed into a pocket. Elias...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded FrontierIn the dream, the ink is not black but the deep, arterial red of a wound that will not close. You are twenty-four years old, Elara, and your fingers are stained to the knuckle with the substance of the *Codex Aeterna*. The year is 1342, and the Abbey of St. Jude stands like a jagged tooth against the grey sky of the valley, a place where silence is not merely a rule but a living thing that...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden MythThe ink was cold. It always was. Elias Thorne sat on the edge of his narrow bed in the attic room above the chandler’s shop, his hands trembling as he wiped the damp spot from his pillowcase. It was a small, dark stain, shaped like a hoof. He had seen the stag again. Golden fur, antlers like branches of twisted wire, bleeding that black, viscous fluid that smelled of old paper and rot. He wiped...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful SkylineThe dream was always the same, a vertical exhalation of glass that did not breathe air but something heavier, a viscous pulse that synced with the throb of Elias Vance’s temples. He woke in the narrow bed of the mill’s dormitory, the sheets tangled around his legs, the air thick with the scent of rust and stale coal dust. It was November, the wind outside rattling the broken panes of the...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale DanceThe brass key was cold in Elias Thorne’s palm, its teeth worn smooth by years of use, a small, heavy thing that felt like a promise he had not yet earned. He stood in the entryway of Blackwood Penitentiary, the wind off the river biting through his wool coat, and watched the snow settle on the black iron bars of the yard. He was thirty years old, a sergeant in the county guard, and he needed...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant ThresholdThe envelope was thick, cream-colored, and smelled faintly of lavender and hospital antiseptic. Elias Thorne held it against the cold concrete of his cell wall, his fingers tracing the heavy crease where the flap had been sealed. Inside lay a typed letter from the prison administration, its font sharp and impersonal, denying his request for a case review. The paper was smooth under his touch, a...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded ChronicleThe trowel bit into the wet clay, a sound like a knuckle cracking in a silent room. I was laying the third course of the north wall, my hands raw and white with lime, when the stone began to weep. It was not water. It was a black sap, thick and oily, oozing from the joints of the limestone blocks as if the rock were a bruised fruit. I wiped it on my trousers. The stain did not lift. It soaked...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale CircusThe rain lashed against the high, barred windows of the Blackwood Penitentiary, a relentless drumming that mirrored the hollow ache in my chest. I stood before the mirror in my quarters, adjusting the tie that had once signified my authority, now feeling only the weight of the wool against my throat. Elara was waiting for me in the infirmary, her breath a shallow rattle in the quiet of her...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek