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 TempleOctober 14, 2024 The rejection letter from the *Journal of Semiotics* lay on the kitchen table, its white paper stark against the beige linoleum, the ink dry and final. Elias Thorne stared at the typed paragraph, the words blurring at the edges as the cold air from the window crept across his shins, and he felt the familiar, heavy drag of his own mind refusing to hold the shape of the sentence....0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale GardenThe iron key is cold in your hand, Louisa Trenchard, and it smells of rust and old blood. You turn it three times, the mechanism grinding with a sound like a bone snapping, and the gate to the Pale Garden shudders. Outside, the fog is thick enough to taste, a damp wool pressing against your lips. Inside, the stone paths glisten with a black sap that oozes from the cracks, pooling in the troughs...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant Temple14th December, 1912 I counted the coins in my pocket three times before I left the banquet hall, forty-two silver florins and a handful of copper, the exact sum owed for the final week’s labor on the spire, a weight that felt both substantial and terrifyingly light against the heavy wool of my coat. The air in the nave was thick with the smell of roasted goose and stale beer, the tables...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden CrossingThorne. The name was spat into the wet air of the municipal archive by Director Vane, a sound that carried the weight of a dropped anvil, shattering the low-frequency hum that had been vibrating in Elias’s teeth since dawn. Elias stood by the filing cabinets, his hand still resting on the cold steel, while Vane paced the length of the room, his shoes slapping against the linoleum with a rhythm...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale DoorThe ink was drying on the parchment, a dark, arterial stain that pulsed against the grain of the vellum, and your hand, Elias, was shaking so violently that the letterhead of the City of Aethelgard trembled like a leaf in a gale, the weight of the quill in your fingers feeling less like a tool and more like a bone you had broken and set wrong. You were thirty-two years old, a scribe of the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful ShowThe ledger in the Guild Master’s office was thick as a man’s thigh, its pages heavy with the weight of forty years of ink and the smell of dried blood that no amount of lavender oil could scrub from the parchment. Elias stood before the desk, his boots caked in the red clay of the road, and watched the clerk count the coins on the table, one by one, with the slow, deliberate patience of a man...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden CircuitThe signature is late, Elias. Halloway’s voice did not rise, but it carried the flat, hard weight of a closed door. We need the foundation sign-off by Friday, or the contract is void. The office was quiet, save for the hum of the ventilation system and the faint, rhythmic tapping of Elias’s own fingers against the desk. He looked at his left hand, resting on the polished mahogany. The tremor...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded GuestThe form lay on the white plastic tray, its edges sharp against the sterile surface, and the ink was still wet, glistening under the fluorescent hum that seemed to vibrate in the fillings of your teeth. You stared at the signature line, a blank void waiting for your surrender, while the heart monitor in the corner beeped with a mechanical, indifferent rhythm that matched the dripping of the IV...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale AltarThe ink bled before the pen touched the paper. I was calculating the mortality tables for the Meridian Mutual. The year was 1912. The air in the office tasted of chalk dust and old tobacco, a dry, suffocating scent that coated the back of my throat. I rubbed my eyes. My hands trembled. Not from cold. From the weight of the numbers. I looked down at the ledger. A single drop of crimson had...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek