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 ThroneThe letter from the Dean lay on my desk, the paper thick and cream-colored, smelling faintly of the lemon oil used on the library’s oak floors. It was a polite rejection of my extension request, signed with a flourish that suggested the man had not read a word of the three pages I had attached. I looked at the date. November twenty-third. Seven days until the solstice, seven days until the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale PathThe note was pinned to the cellar door with a rusted nail. It was a list, written in Elias’s own hand, though the ink had bled into the damp wood until the letters looked like bruises. Item one: transcribing equipment. Item two: coffee, black. Item three: the sample jar. Below the list, a single line in different handwriting, shaky and faint. Do not listen. Elias stared at the paper. The wood...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale PathThe linen bandage was white, so white it seemed to glow against the grey marble of the antechamber floor. Judith Pargeter held her left arm against her chest, the stump hidden beneath the cloth, the weight of it a strange, familiar heaviness that pulsed in time with her own heartbeat. She was twelve years old, and she had come to the Palace of Justice to save her father’s life. The air here was...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden MasterThe ink on the Golden Master was fresh. I know this because I smelled it, a sharp, metallic tang of iron gall that clung to my fingertips like a wound that would not close, even as the High Chancellor’s office smelled of stale tobacco and old paper. I am Elias Thorne, Senior Archivist, and for forty-two years I have served the Ministry of Truth, believing that the state’s legitimacy was...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful AsylumThe paper was thick, cream-colored, and smelled faintly of the lemon oil the director used to polish his desk, a scent that sat heavily in the back of Elias’s throat like a swallowed stone. He held the document with hands that had laid ten thousand bricks, hands that knew the weight of a trowel and the precise angle of a chisel, but today they trembled so violently that the ink threatened to...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant ThresholdMy hands were already in the mud when I reached for the trowel, the cold seeping through the leather of my gloves into the bone. The earth was soft, a dark, breathing thing that had swallowed the foot of the old boundary stone three weeks prior, and I scraped at it with a desperation that felt less like work and more like a prayer. I was forty years old, a master mason of the City of York, and...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant JourneyThe pendulum swung with a heavy, greasy thud against the brass casing. Arthur Vane counted the seconds. One. Two. Three. The tick was sharp, a needle pricking the air of the Great Hall. The tock was dull, a muffled impact against the floorboards. He had been counting for an hour, his fingers stained black with oil, his eyes burning from the strain of holding a jeweler’s loupe over the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful SilenceYour fingers are stained black to the second knuckle, the ink drying in the creases of your skin like a second, darker dermis. You are Elias Thorne, thirty-four years old, and you are three hours from the dawn that will determine whether your brother’s soul remains bound to the crypt or is released to whatever waits beyond the stone. The scriptorium of the Abbey of St. Jude smells of iron, damp...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded SutraThe memo was typed on cream-colored stock, the font a sterile, sans-serif Arial that stripped the words of any warmth, sitting on Elias Thorne’s desk like a verdict. It stated, with the detached precision of a coroner’s report, that the *Codex of Whispers* had been reclassified as a fraudulent modern forgery, that his primary research grant was hereby revoked, and that his duties would...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek