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 Wistful WitnessThe dream is always the same: a sheet of parchment, dry as bone, catching a spark from nowhere, and the sound it makes as it curls into ash, a dry, skeletal rattle that you can feel in your teeth. You wake in the narrow bed of your cell in the Imperial Archive, the air thick with the scent of dust and old glue, your hands trembling not from cold but from the phantom heat of the fire. You are...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale CircusThe fog in Harrowgate does not clear; it thickens, a grey wool suffocating the gas lamps and the cobblestones. You are twelve years old, and your name is Elias, though the cold has begun to eat away at the certainty of who you are. You stand before the Pale Circus, its canvas walls taut and white as a shroud, the entrance a gaping maw that smells of sawdust and rot. Inside, the Ringmaster...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded PortraitElias, come here. The voice was not mine. It belonged to the dust motes swirling in the grey light of the attic, a sound like dry leaves skittering across stone. I stood on the landing, twelve years old and heavy with the weight of my own fear. Below me, in the kitchen, Mara was coughing. The sound was wet, a ragged tearing of fabric that I knew by heart. We were husband and wife, bound by a...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant ThresholdThe corridor of the Ministry of Records did not behave according to the laws of Euclidean geometry, a fact that Elias Thorne had noted in his field journal three times before his pen stopped moving, the ink blurring into a smear of black nothingness as the walls began to ripple like liquid mercury. He was forty-five years old, an archivist of modest renown and rigid habit, and he had traveled...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful DinnerThe document was a single sheet of heavy cream paper, the ink still wet where Magistrate Halloway had signed his name. Elias Thorne read it twice, the rain drumming a frantic, hollow rhythm against the high windows of the sheriff’s office. It stated, in clear, bureaucratic type, that the ceramic locket recovered from the scene of the accident was deemed evidence of negligence, not a personal...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant ThresholdThe frequency is wrong, Elias. It’s not an echo. It’s a mimic. Mara held the printout up to the fluorescent light, the paper trembling slightly in her grip as the hum of the server room filled the small office. She had spent three weeks isolating the sound from the basement’s ambient noise, filtering out the pipes, the ventilation, the settling of the building’s old bones, only to find that the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant MetropolisThe stone walls of the refectory, damp and slick with centuries of condensation, pressed in on Elias like the inside of a ribcage, trapping the scent of mildew and cold ash that permeated every breath he took in the ancient, crumbling monastery of St. Jude’s. He sat on the lowest bench, his twelve-year-old hands trembling around a chipped clay token, a crude disc of fired earth that was the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant TempleThe wool was still stiff from the shop, holding the shape of the hanger against my neck as I fumbled with the top button, my fingers clumsy from the cold that had crept into the rented room despite the iron stove’s glow. I was thirty-two years old, a clerk of modest reputation in Oakhaven, and I was trying to look like a man who did not need the validation of a man who owned half the town’s...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale MistYou cannot simply leave a mark on the air, can you, that is what Dr. Elias Thorne was saying, his voice thin and reedy in the sterile white silence of the university faculty lounge, where the fluorescent lights hummed a low, electric hymn that seemed to drill directly into the temples of anyone who had not slept in more than forty-eight hours. He stood before the blackboard, though there was no...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek