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 SutraThe train to Harrowgate smells of coal dust and wet wool. I press the leather satchel against my chest, feeling the weight of the ledger inside. It is heavier than it should be, as if the paper itself has grown dense with guilt. My name is Elara Vance, and I am thirty-two years old, a widow of the Ashworth Textile Mill. I am here to deliver my husband’s final ledger to Magistrate Sterling. I...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant TempleThe iron band snaps with a sound like a dry twig breaking in a winter forest, leaving a raw, weeping burn on your left index finger that pulses in time with the strange, localized heat rising from the stone idol of the Temple of Aethel. You are Silas Vane, forty-two, a senior auditor for the Imperial Bureau of Relics, and in three months you will be mandatory retirement, a date that currently...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded FrequencyThe dream was not of fire, as the Abbot claimed it would be, but of water, a cold, black tide that swallowed the scriptorium whole, leaving only the dry, brittle sound of parchment tearing in the silence that followed. I woke with the taste of ash in my mouth, the date of the entry scrawled in the margin: October the third, 1342. I am twelve years old, and I am the hands of Brother Thomas, the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden CompassThe dream was always the same, a loop of gold and silence. Eamon woke with the taste of iron in his mouth, the sheets damp with a sweat that smelled of rotting leaves. He was forty years old, a man whose knees clicked like dry twigs when he stood, his lungs a pair of bellows that wheezed in the thin mountain air. The sickness had settled into his bones over the last winter, a wasting thing that...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden DowntownThe rain did not fall so much as it hung in the air, a fine, gray mist that soaked into the porous brick of the Municipal Library’s facade, making the stone look as though it were sweating with a slow, institutional fever. Elias Thorne stood beneath the awning, his coat damp and heavy, watching the water drip from the gutter in a rhythmic, indifferent percussion that marked the seconds of his...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant ClueThe snow had not yet fallen when Elias left the monastery of St. Jude, though the air in the valley was already thick with the gray promise of winter, a chill that settled into the bones of the sixteen-year-old scribe as he walked the long, unpaved road toward the Bishop’s court. He carried little with him, only a woolen coat that had seen better decades and a small leather satchel in which...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant TempleThe ledger had counted four hundred and twelve days since Elara’s arrest, a number Alaric had etched into the back of his hand with a needle, the ink now a faded, rust-colored scar that itched whenever the damp air of the dungeon settled against his skin. He stood before the High Magistrate, a man whose flesh seemed to ripple with a slow, subterranean current, as if the water table of the earth...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful SilenceThe ink refused to stay. I dipped the quill, a goose feather stiff with age, and pressed it to the parchment. The letters formed, sharp and black, but as I pulled the quill back, the marks faded like breath on glass. I tried again. The same erasure. My hand trembled, not from cold, but from the hollow ache in my skull where my name used to be. I am Elias. I try to say it, but the sound slips...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant AffairThe ink on the ledger page is still wet, and you are wiping it with a rag that smells of turpentine and old sweat. Your hand trembles, not from cold, but from the lingering vibration of the dream where your father’s face, stitched crudely onto a stranger’s neck, smiled at you with a mouth that had too many teeth. You are Silas, a thirty-year-old City Guard, and you need the night shift...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek