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 LegendThe claim file sat on Elias Thorne’s desk, a thick manila folder bound by a rusted staple, its edges softened by three months of handling. He turned it over in his hands, feeling the weight of the paper, the dry friction of the card stock, before sliding it into the outbox for the third time that week. The office of Meridian Mutual Life Insurance smelled of stale coffee and ozone, a scent that...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden CompassThe order was printed on thin, grey paper, the ink slightly blurred where the rain had seeped through the flap of the envelope. Sergeant Elias Thorne read it twice, his thumb tracing the line that designated his unit for the morning assault, a task that carried a price in lives he could not afford to spend. He folded the paper and tucked it into his tunic, next to the brass compass that sat...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful AshesThe left hand held the ledger, the paper thin as onion skin, the ink smudged where sweat had gathered in the creases of the knuckles. Sergeant Elias Thorne stared at the column of numbers, the totals for the Wardens’ supply requisitions, and felt a cold prickle trace the veins of his wrist. It was a sensation like ice water moving through a pipe, a tingling that started in the bone and bloomed...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale GardenThe leather binding of the ledger was cold, slick with a dampness that seemed to seep from the paper itself, and Elias Thorne held it in his trembling hands, his knuckles white against the dark, textured surface. He sat in the deepest alcove of the St. Jude’s Institute archives, a room where the air hung heavy with the scent of mildew and old varnish, the only light coming from a single,...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale CircusThe silk frayed at the edge, a thread pulling loose in my hand as I tightened the knot around my neck. It was the only thing I had left of her, and it smelled of lavender and old dust, a scent that clung to the wool of my coat like a persistent guest. I walked out of the inn, the door banging shut behind me, cutting off the smell of boiled cabbage and stale beer. The town of Blackwater was...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant GhostThe wind did not howl in the valley of the Kelders. It whispered. It scraped against the stone like a fingernail testing the rim of a glass. Thomas Ashworth stood in the center of the roundhouse, the heavy oak door barred against the dark. He was a man of few words, a clerk by trade in the town below, but here, in the old stone circle, he was only a man holding a lantern. The light was weak, a...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful CrossroadsThe rain against the window of the border patrol outpost sounded like static, a white noise that Elias Thorne had come to associate with the slow erosion of his own relevance. He sat in the sparse office, the only light coming from the desk lamp that hummed with a low, electric grief, and stared at the leather belt coiled on the blotter. It was worn thin at the buckle, the leather darkened by...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale ProtocolElara Vance, the Bishop said, you are treading on holy ground with muddy boots. The voice did not come from the door, nor from the shadow of the nave, but from the stone itself, a vibration that rattled the dust on the ledger desk before resolving into the distinct, gravelly baritone of Bishop Halloway. He stood in the doorway of the St. Jude’s Chapel, his silhouette framed by the grey November...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant CartographElias. The summons came not by herald, but by the sudden, absolute silence of the court, a hush so profound it felt like a physical weight pressing against my eardrums. I stood in the antechamber, my satchel heavy with the tools of my trade: the fine-pointed reed pens, the vials of iron-gall ink, the abrasive stones for smoothing the vellum, and the small, worn compass that had guided my hand...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek