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 Distant WhispersThe silver brooch sat in my palm, heavy as a stone from the riverbed, its filigree worn smooth by twenty years of my thumb rubbing against it. I held it up to the flickering gaslight of the boiler room, watching the metal catch the glow, and for a moment, the tremor in my hands stilled, replaced by the cold, steady weight of the thing itself. It was a mourning piece, a cluster of black onyx...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden VisitThe stone tower of Aethelgard did not stand so much as it clung to the cliff face, a jagged tooth of granite biting into the perpetual mist that rolled off the Weeping Realm below. Elias Thorne sat in the center of his circular study, the air thick with the scent of drying ink and the faint, metallic tang of old blood, his eyes fixed on the parchment that unrolled across the floor like a skin....0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale ExileThe oak door of the Thorne Manor groaned against its frame, a sound like a bone shifting in a joint that had long since calcified, and Elias Thorne stood in the center of the hall, his hands clasped behind his back, feeling the dust of the autumn afternoon settle on the shoulders of his wool coat. It was October of 1912, and the house, which had been his father’s sanctuary and his own...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant WhispersThe radio dial clicked through static, a dry, skeletal sound that Elias Thorne counted as he adjusted the frequency, his left hand trembling so violently that the plastic knob slipped between his fingers twice before he secured it. He was thirty-four years old, a senior agent for the border patrol, and he had seven days to catch the man known as The Whisperer to secure his promotion to district...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded RiverThe invoice was folded into a tight square on the gunwale, the paper soft from the damp air. I held it out to the man standing on the dock. The ink had smeared slightly, a brown blur where my thumb had pressed too hard. “Sign here,” I said. “And there. Standard terms. No hidden fees. I’m not a lawyer, but I am a pilot, and I know the value of a hull that doesn’t leak.” The man looked at the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden MasterThe loom did not rest, and neither did the debt, which hung over our cottage in Ashford like a low-hanging cloud of coal smoke. I was twelve years old in the winter of 1912, a junior apprentice at the Halloway Textile Mill, where the air was thick with the scent of wet wool and machine oil. My father, Thomas Bradshaw, lay in the bed with a cough that rattled in his chest like loose gravel, and...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful DinnerThe invoice for the restoration of the Thorne-Vance partnership archive sat on the bench, weighed down by a brass caliper, totaling four thousand dollars in labor, a sum that represented not merely the hours Elias had spent cleaning the dust from the spindles but the entirety of his professional dignity, which he intended to reclaim through the flawless repair of the specific artifact that had...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale FractureMy fingers were stained with the grey dust of the 1912 ledger when I first felt the cold seep into my knuckles, a chill that had no source in the climate-controlled air of the Ministry’s basement. I was cross-referencing the geological surveys of the North Face against the Ministry’s internal memos, a task that had consumed the last three weeks of my life, my sleep, and my sanity. The ledger...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful CrossroadsThe summons came at dawn, carried by a boy whose boots were caked in the red mud of the lower city. Elias. The Chancellor requires you. You stood in the scriptorium, the smell of oak gall and iron filling your lungs. The air was thin, sharp with the bite of early winter. You looked at your hands. They were stained to the wrist, the skin darkened by years of mixing the pigment. You wanted the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek