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 GridThe ink is still wet on the last line of my plea to the Abbot, the words smearing into the coarse parchment like a bruise that refuses to heal, and I find my hand trembling so violently that the nib snaps, leaving a jagged black scar across the page where I wrote your name, Clara, that name which is the only thing keeping me tethered to this wretched existence in the shadows of St. Jude’s. You...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale ProtocolThe dream always begins with the taste of iron on the tongue, a metallic tang that coats the teeth and settles deep in the throat, followed by the sight of the pale, chalky paste smeared across a linen cloth, thick and opaque as curdled milk, which Major Elias Thorne has been feeding to the men of the Ninth Industrial Detachment for the past three years under the guise of a remedial tonic for...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden ScarYou count the stitches in the lining of your coat as you wait, one, two, three, a rhythm that keeps the cold at bay. The air in the Ministry of Aesthetics is always dry, a sterile chill that settles into the joints and makes the gold-threaded collar you wear feel heavier with every passing minute. You are Elias, thirty-two, a low-level censor, and your job is to decide which poems are too heavy...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale VerdictThe quill pen felt heavy in my hand, its feather tip scratching against the rough, cream-colored paper of the ledger my father had used to track the mill’s output before the fever took him. I held it the way he taught me, thumb pressing firmly against the shaft, but my knuckles were white and trembling, a vibration that traveled up my arm and settled in my chest like a trapped bird. Outside,...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful IncenseThe scribe’s voice was thin and sharp, cutting through the damp silence of the cloister like a knife through wet rope. “Elara, the Bishop’s carriage waits. You have one hour to deliver the sealed packet, and do not stop for the rain or for your grief.” Elara stood by the stone wall, her fingers trembling not from the cold but from the weight of the wax seal in her pocket. It was a heavy, red...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale AltarThe rain did not fall so much as it hung in the air, a suspended gray curtain that blurred the edge of the university campus where Elias Thorne stood, his coat damp and heavy, his jaw a dull, throbbing ache that had become the metronome of his life for three years. He was forty-five, an archivist of modest renown, a man who had built his career on the meticulous preservation of the past while...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden OathThe ledger on the desk was open to page forty-two, the ink still wet, listing the inventory of the vault: three hundred and twelve candles, forty pounds of beeswax, and one High Priest, currently bleeding out on the stone floor. Elias counted the words of the Oath in his head, a rhythmic hammering against the silence of the room, because if he stopped counting, his hand would stop trembling,...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale TowerYou count the hours by the angle of the sun through the high, narrow windows of the archive, a habit that has outlasted the clocks in the hallway. You are Elias, forty-two, a senior archivist at St. Jude’s Hospital, and you have spent twenty years cataloguing the paper trail of a medieval tower that still stands in the modern city. Your concrete want is simple and urgent: to secure the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant AffairThe letter was heavy, thick with the weight of red wax and old ink, and Elias Thorne held it up to the gaslight with trembling hands. It was a bill, or perhaps a confession, written in a script so cramped it seemed to squirm on the page. He had found it tucked inside the spine of a water-damaged volume of *Meditations*, hidden behind the binding where the glue had cracked a decade ago. Elias...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek