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 ThresholdThe order slip was yellowed, the ink faded to a bruise-purple. Sergeant Elias Thorne read it twice on the swaying train, the paper trembling in his hand. *Retrieve Ledger 44-B from the Oakhaven holding cells. Report to Captain Halloway upon arrival.* Below the signature, a debt was listed: *Promotion contingent on completion.* Thorne was thirty-four, and he had been a sergeant for six years,...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded MasqueradeThe ink was not black. It was a deep, arterial red that smelled of copper and old pennies. Thomas Bradshaw held the quill with a hand that did not shake, though his heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped bird. Outside the scriptorium, the wind howled through the broken panes of St. Jude’s Abbey, carrying the stench of rotting flesh from the pits beyond the walls. Inside, the air was...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant BladeThe resin was drying too fast, a tacky amber web stretching between the jagged edges of the glass. Elias pressed his thumb against the crack, feeling the grit of the shard bite into his skin, and watched the reflection waver. It was not his face that looked back, but a distortion, a smudge of gray and bone that seemed to age before his eyes. He had been at this for three hours, his back aching,...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded RootThe rain did not fall so much as it pressed down, a heavy, gray weight that turned the Appalachian ridge into a slick of mud and rot. Maren stood with her boots sinking to the ankle, the earth beneath her churning with a wet, organic sound that felt less like soil and more like the grinding of teeth. She was here to sell the cabin, to convert the timber and the land into cash to pay off the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden EchoesThe static was yellow. Not the gold of coins, but the sickly, bruised yellow of old television snow. "I said, Elias. Did you hear me?" I blinked. The fluorescent tube above my desk buzzed, a dry, rattling sound like a bird trapped in a pipe. Mr. Vance stood on the other side of the glass partition, his tie a stark, unbroken line of red against his white shirt. He held a clipboard. The plastic...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded ParadoxThe ledger weighed three pounds, four ounces, and two pennies’ worth of guilt. Elias Thorne held it in his hands, the leather spine cracked like old skin, and felt the damp of the crypt seep into his knuckles. He had counted the pages forty times. Forty times he had checked the ink for forgery, the paper for age, the sums for error. The math was perfect. The sin was absolute. Outside, the fog...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded QuadrantThe ink was not merely black; it was a living thing, cold and viscous, smelling of iron and old rain. Elias Thorne stood before the mahogany desk of Judge Halloway, his mentor, his father in all but blood, and watched the liquid seep into the parchment of the town map. Halloway lay in the high-backed chair, his face a mask of waxen gray, his eyes fixed on the eastern quadrant of the map with a...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful IncenseElias. The name was not spoken with warmth, nor with anger, but with the flat, administrative precision of a man checking an inventory list. Mayor Thorne stood in the doorway of the workshop, his shadow stretching long and thin across the floorboards, which were warped by years of humidity and the scent of dried myrrh. The light in the room was gray, the heavy fog of Oakhaven pressing against...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful PetalThe brass gears of the pocket watch were cold against your fingertips, colder than the November air that seeped through the single pane of your workshop window. You held the escapement with tweezers, your breath held in your chest, watching the balance wheel tremble in a rhythm that was almost, but not quite, correct. It was a complication piece, a tourbillon for Mr. Sterling, a man who wore...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek