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 Faded GuestThe ledger held forty-two entries of debt, each line a dry scratch of pencil against the grain of the paper, counting the days since the last payment. You are Elias Thorne, forty-two, and the weight of the book in your hand is heavier than the theodolite you have carried down the stairs, a burden of arithmetic that smells of stale ink and damp wool. The air in the basement tastes of copper, a...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden SuspectThe brass key in my hand was cold, a solid, heavy thing that felt less like a tool and more like a bone I had pulled from the earth, and I held it up to the gaslight in the hallway of the Meridian Assurance Company, watching the filament glow through the brass until it looked like a trapped, dying star. I am Elara Vane, and I have spent twenty years calculating the probability of death, yet I...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale BridgeThe wind did not blow so much as it breathed, a slow, rhythmic exhalation that seemed to come from the river itself, a black ribbon of water that cut through the valley with the indifference of a blade. Elias Thorne stood at the edge of the Pale Bridge, his boots planted firmly on the moss-slicked stone, the weight of his service weapon heavy and familiar against his hip. He was thirty-two...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden CrossingThe flour is gone, Elias, and the debt remains." Magistrate Halloway did not look up from his ledger. The office smelled of old paper and damp wool, a scent that clung to the back of Elias’s throat like a stale piece of bread. Elias stood in the center of the room, his left hand resting on the edge of the desk. It was not his hand anymore. The skin had turned a dull, matte gold, extending past...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale ShadowsThe nightmare is always the same: the ceiling of the parlor peels away like wet plaster, revealing not the roof but a void of black ink, and you are twelve, standing in the dust, watching the beams snap one by one until the room folds in on itself and buries you under the weight of your own memory. You wake with your sheets tangled around your legs, the air in the bedroom thick with the smell...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded ParadoxThe letter arrived on a Tuesday, weighed down by the damp of a Leeds winter that had turned the cobblestones into slick, black mirrors. Arthur Vane counted the days on his fingers, a habit from the trenches where time was measured in artillery bursts and ration packs. Six weeks until the hanging. Thomas was in the lockup, accused of murdering Silas Thorne, a man whose wealth was built on the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale TowerThe parchment was already wet, the ink pooling in a dark, viscous bead that smelled of iron and old blood. You held the sheet up to the grey light filtering through the high, narrow windows of the scriptorium, watching the liquid refuse to dry, refusing to behave like the oak-gall ink you had mixed for twenty years. It was a Tuesday, the air thick with the scent of damp wool and the sharp,...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale PathThe dream was always the same, a static image of a pale limestone wall stretching into a fog that tasted of copper and old rain, and in the center of that wall, carved in letters that seemed to bleed white light into the dark, was the name Elias Thorne. He woke with the taste of chalk on his tongue and the distinct, physical ache in his chest that comes from holding one’s breath for too long,...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant WoundThorne. The name hung in the air, sharp and metallic, before it even reached your ears. You were standing in the intake queue of the Grey Zone, the place where the border between the ordered city and the wasteland blurred into a smear of static and rust. The woman at the desk, her face a mask of grey synthetic skin, did not look up. She tapped a key, and the sound was a wet click, like a tongue...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek