0 Comments
0 Shares
1 Views
0 Reviews
Directory
Discover new ideas, create new connections and make new friends
-
Please log in to like, share and comment!
-
The Wistful ThroneThe glass of the champagne flute cracked in Thomas Vane’s hand. It was a sharp, bright fracture, splitting the rim into three jagged shards that clattered onto the marble floor of the Foundry’s grand hall. The sound was small, swallowed by the roar of the Great Engine in the basement, but to Thomas it sounded like a bone snapping. He was twelve years old, standing in a suit that fit him too...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded PhotographThe leather of the belt was cracked along the buckle, a dry map of fissures that I ran my thumb over until the skin felt raw. It was a thing of habit, really, the way one checks a watch or adjusts a collar, but in the grey light of the Oakhaven Police Station, it felt like a ritual of penance. I was thirty years old, and I had served this city for fourteen of them, yet I stood in the corridor...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful VoyageThe light in the office was the color of old dishwater, yellow and stagnant, pooling in the corners of the room where the wallpaper had peeled away from the plaster to reveal the dark, damp brick beneath. I sat at the desk, my left hand resting on the cold mahogany, watching the veins beneath the skin throb with a rhythmic, sickly heat that had nothing to do with the fever I was told I was...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded RootElias Thorne, the council clerk whispered, looking up from the stack of tax ledgers as if the name itself were a debt he owed. I stood in the doorway of the municipal office, my hands still black with the graphite dust of the library’s sub-basement, and felt the weight of the silence in the room press against my eardrums. The air in Blackwood was thick with the smell of coal smoke and wet wool,...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden CircuitMarch 12 "Thomas, the water is running." The voice was not in the room. It was in the pipes, in the dry rot of the floorboards, in the specific frequency of the silence that followed my wife’s death. I stood in the kitchen, holding a cup of cold coffee, and listened to the house settle. It was a low, grinding sound, like a ship taking on water. Elise had been dead for three years. The bank had...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant GardenThorne. The word hangs in the air of the Ministry corridor, stripped of any warmth, a flat administrative sound that bounces off the grey stone walls and settles into the soles of your shoes. You stop walking, your hand still resting on the brass railing, the metal cold and gritty under your palm, and turn to find Director Halloway standing three paces back, his face a mask of polite concern...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale TowerThe leather journal was cracked down the spine, the cover soft and dark with sweat and old rain. Elias held it in his left hand, his knuckles white, while his right hand gripped the hiker’s shoulder. The man was breathing, a wet, rattling sound that cut through the wind howling off the ridge. Elias had been walking for six hours, the snow knee-deep and heavy, dragging his boots through a slush...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded SutraThe rain hammered against the single pane of glass in the station office, a rhythmic drumming that matched the throb in Elias Thorne’s temples. He sat in the heavy oak chair, the leather creaking under his weight, and stared at the silver ring on his left hand. It was a simple band, a gift from Margaret twenty years ago, but tonight it looked wrong. The metal was dull, and hairline fractures...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant MetropolisThe wool was warm. Elias Thorne held the collar against his palm, feeling the heat radiate from the fur, a temperature that should not have existed in the damp stone cellar where the air tasted of mildew and old rot. He had brought the cloak down from the bedroom, intending to bundle it for the market, but the weight of it had stopped him. It was not merely heavy; it was dense, as if the fibers...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek