0 Comments
0 Shares
1 Views
0 Reviews
Directory
Discover new ideas, create new connections and make new friends
-
Please log in to like, share and comment!
-
The Distant LegendThe ink on the ledger page was dry, but the paper was soft, yielding to Arthur Vane’s thumb as if it were wet. He was forty years old, a medical historian at the University of Leeds, and he was dying, though he had not yet admitted it to anyone but the mirror. The cough that had plagued him for three years was no longer a nervous tick; it was a wet, rattling engine in his chest that shook the...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant SummerThe vibration began in the teeth before it reached the ears, a low, grinding thrum that seemed to rise from the iron boilers beneath the floorboards of the apothecary. I am writing this down now, in the quiet hours after the shop has closed, because I fear I am losing the distinction between the sound and the sensation of my own failing body. I am twenty-four years old, a junior clerk under Mr....0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful PetalThe memo was printed on the cheap, flimsy stock that the city used for internal notices, the kind that tore if you breathed on it too hard. It sat on your desk, a white square against the gray laminate, demanding your signature by end of day. You read it twice. Then you read it a third time, not because you didn’t understand the words, but because the ink was moving, shifting from black to a...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded BouquetThe letter lay on the workbench, its seal broken, the ink still wet with the prior’s impatience. It demanded the rose window be restored by the feast of All Saints, or Elias would be expelled from the cathedral and his name struck from the guild rolls. You read it twice, your fingers trembling so violently that the parchment fluttered like a dying leaf. The palsy had started in the winter, a...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful AshesThe ink on the requisition form was still wet, glistening under the harsh fluorescent tube that buzzed like a trapped fly. Elias Thorne stared at the signature line, his pen hovering, the tip trembling not from cold but from the weight of the blank space it threatened to fill. He had spent twenty years mapping the edges of the Zone, tracing the jagged teeth of the boundary with a precision that...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant ClueThe mud on the King’s Road was deep enough to swallow a man’s boot up to the ankle, and it smelled of rotting leaves and wet iron. You walked with a rhythm that had been drilled into you since boyhood, your left shoulder stiff against the weight of the sword belt, your eyes fixed on the figure trudging ahead of you. Julian was small, frail, and silent, his hands bound with rope that had long...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded ChronicleThe weight of the file boxes was not merely a physical burden but a ledger of hours, each cardboard edge wearing a groove into the palm, a friction that measured out the remaining weeks of your probationary period in the municipal archive. You are Elias, thirty-four, a junior archivist whose hands are permanently stained with the grey dust of other people’s lives, and you want nothing more than...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale EchoThe intake form lay on the steel table, its edges curled from humidity, the ink smearing where your thumb had pressed too hard. You signed it, the pen scratching a jagged line across the name Elias Thorne, and the sound was louder than the hum of the ventilation units. You wanted the orchid destroyed, or at least proven to be a fabrication, but the building’s climate control had locked the room...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant NightmareThe damp in the infirmary smelled of wet wool and old iron. Elias stood before the barred window, his jaw tight, the scar across his cheek pulling against the tension. He did not look at the bed. He looked at the door. "Let him go," Elias said. His voice was low, stripped of command. Vane sat in the only chair, a stack of parchment balanced on his knee. He did not look up. The paper rustled, a...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek