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 Faded ApartmentThe ledger book was open on the desk, the spine cracked, the pages yellowed like old teeth. "You’re going to sell it," Mrs. Gable said. It wasn’t a question. She stood by the door, her hands tucked into the pockets of her wool cardigan, watching me with a stillness that felt heavier than the snow piling against the windowpane. I didn’t look up. I was trying to focus on the numbers, the...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded PortraitYou sign the line, or I sign the transfer. The ink on the form is black and wet, smelling of iron and cheap chemical fixative. It sits on the laminate desk, a stark white rectangle against the beige linoleum floor of Office 4B. I am Elias Thorne, forty-two years old, and I have served the Department for twenty-two years. I want to retire before the fiscal year ends so I can keep my pension. The...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded QuadrantThe banquet hall of the Oakhaven Foundry was a cathedral of heat and noise, the air thick with the smell of roasted mutton and the metallic tang of molten iron that seeped through the floorboards from the forges below. Elias Thorne sat at the head of the table, his hands folded neatly on the white cloth, though beneath the starched cuffs, his fingers twitched with a rhythm that matched no music...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale MistThe dream began with the smell of wet stone and the sound of my own breathing, which was not quite my own but a low, hollow drone that seemed to come from the walls of the tower. I woke in the blue half-light of dawn, the sheets tangled around my legs, and knew before I opened my eyes that the mist had moved closer to Mara’s bedside. I am Elias, Keeper of the Pale Mist, a title that sounds...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful PetalThe tally sticks lay on the table, twelve of them, each marked with a scratch for every day George Pargeter had served without a single complaint. He counted them twice. The light in the council chamber was low, the oil lamps guttering against the draft that seeped under the heavy oak door. George watched the flame. He did not blink. Across the table, Archon Aldric sat with his hands folded,...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant TempleThe pen slipped from Elias Thorne’s fingers and struck the metal table with a sound like a small bone breaking. He watched it roll to the edge, hesitate, and fall onto the concrete floor of the interrogation room, where it lay still and useless in the gray light. Across the table, the suspect, a young man named Kael whose jacket was too thin for the November cold, stopped shifting in his chair....0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale MeridianThe chandelier above you is a constellation of crystal that has not been cleaned in three years, and it casts a fractured, jagged light across the mahogany dining table where you have arranged the last of the silver, the tarnished spoons lying in their velvet slots like the teeth of a jaw that has forgotten how to bite. You are forty-two years old, and your knees ache with a dull, persistent...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant ThresholdThe rain lashed against the windowpane of the small office on Fleet Street, a rhythmic drumming that could not drown out the silence inside. Elias Thorne sat at his desk, the leather worn smooth by years of anxious hands, and stared at the eviction notice pinned to the corkboard. It was dated October 14th, 1893, and it gave him until the end of the week to vacate the premises. He was thirty...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded AlibiThe ink in my veins has turned the color of dried blood, a viscosity that clogs the capillaries of my fingers until they ache with a dull, persistent throb. I am Elias Thorne, forty-two years of service in the Oakhaven Constabulary, and I sit in the cold stone chamber of the Tribunal waiting for my name to be called, my body already betraying the oath I swore to keep. The pressure is not...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek