0 Comments
0 Shares
2 Views
0 Reviews
Directory
Discover new ideas, create new connections and make new friends
-
Please log in to like, share and comment!
-
The Pale ProtocolThe ledger said three days. Three days since the last shift ended, three days since Thomas went under, and three days since I stopped sleeping. I counted the stitches on my left boot, twenty-two, matching the number of years I had served this town. The air in Oakhaven did not smell of coal anymore. It smelled of sulfur and wet wool, a heavy, cloying scent that sat in the throat and would not...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful CampusOctober 14. The rain has not stopped for three days, turning the northern fence line into a slick, muddy track that smells of rotting pine and wet iron. I am alone at Post 4, holding the rusted gate that marks the end of my jurisdiction and the beginning of the void. The metal is cold through my gloves, a constant, biting reminder of the boundary I am sworn to defend. I want out. I want to be...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant BladeThe letter lay on the kitchen table, the paper brittle as dried skin, the ink faded to a rusty brown that matched the stain spreading across the cellar floor. You read it three times, your hands trembling not from the cold, though the house was freezing, but from the sheer weight of the words that accused you of treason. It was a bill, of sorts, sent by the Ministry of Internal Affairs,...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden OathThe hum was louder than the words. "…and the root, the root is in the—" Elias Thorne pressed his pen against the paper, but the ink bled into a black smear. He looked up at the patient, a thin man named Arthur whose eyes were fixed on a point somewhere behind Elias’s left ear. The air in the study was thick, stagnant, tasting of copper and old dust. Outside, the afternoon light was failing, the...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant NightmareThe clock in the Blackwood Institute’s main hall struck four, and Elias Thorne counted the hours of his life remaining in the ledger he was cataloging, each tick of the pendulum a distinct, heavy blow against his temple. He was thirty years old, a senior archivist with twelve years of service, and he wanted the promotion to Director that was his by right, a right secured by the flawless...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded DustThe gear is gone, and you are the only one who was in the workshop after the whistle blew, so I am logging this incident against your wages for the next six weeks, which is a sum that will eat into your food money and leave you with nothing for the rent you owe Mrs. Gable, and I expect you to be on the floor before dawn tomorrow to make up the time. Mr. Vane’s voice did not rise; it simply sat...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale ExileThe ink is wet. It spreads on the heavy paper of the logbook, a dark stain that refuses to dry. I am holding the pen, my hand steady, but the cold in the room is a physical weight, pressing against my shoulders. It is November, 1893, and I am Elias Thorne, Constable, writing in my daily log. I want my name cleared. The ink blots again. I want the record to say I was not the cause of Clara’s...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded DustSeven hundred and twelve boards. That is how many I mopped before the sound started. I am Elias. I am forty-two. I work the night shift at St. Jude’s Asylum, a place that smells of bleach and wet wool. The floorboards are old oak, dark and heavy. They creak when I drag the bucket. They groan when I lean my weight against them. At 3:00 AM, the groaning changes. It becomes a whisper. It sounds...0 Comments 0 Shares 3 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden DowntownThorne, you’re making a mess of the site. Elias Thorne did not turn around. He stood with his back to the mud, watching the rain drum against the glass skin of the Aurelia Tower, the newly completed monolith that rose from the center of the city like a bruise that refused to heal. The rain was heavy, cold, and relentless, slicking the concrete steps where he stood, but the cold was not what...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek