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 Wistful SilenceThe heavy steel key hung from Elias Thorne’s neck on a chain that had long since tarnished to a dull, sickly green. He turned it over in his fingers, the metal cold and biting against the skin of his thumb, a small, sharp pain that seemed to ground him in the present moment. The air in the corridor was thick with the scent of damp plaster and old paper, a dry, dusty cold that settled deep in...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale ShadowsYour hands are deep in the pale caps, pulling them from the mud where the fog has pooled. They are heavy, wetter than they should be, and they smell of iron and old rain. You are Elias Thorne, a border warden, and you are trying to save your son, Julian, from the wasting sickness that has hollowed his cheeks in three weeks. The uncanny rule of this post is simple, though no one writes it in the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful PetalThe loom’s shuttle screamed through the air, a high-pitched whine that cut through the thick, sulfurous haze of the mill floor, and Elias Thorne gripped the iron railing of the inspection platform until his knuckles turned the color of old bone, his mind a chaotic tangle of arithmetic and dread as he calculated the exact number of days remaining before the bank would seize the family home. He...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden SongThe notice lay on the table, the paper thin and brittle as a dried leaf, the ink faded to a grey that matched the dust on the windowsill. Elias Thorne stared at the block of text, the bureaucratic font stripping away the humanity of the words until they were just commands, just orders from the Council of Calvert. *By virtue of the vote held on the 14th of October, the office of Sheriff is...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant BladeThe tally was simple: three hundred and twelve miles of fence, two hundred and forty miles of snow, and one promotion waiting in the mail. Elias Thorne counted them the way he counted his steps, a rigid, metronomic rhythm that kept the world from sliding out from under him. He was fifty-two, and the weight of the command sat heavy on his shoulders, a physical burden he carried with the grim...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant TempleThe hammer head bit into the mortar with a crunch that traveled up my arm and settled in my molars. I pulled the tool free, the steel slick with wet gray dust, and wiped my hand on the sleeve of my hard hat. The vibration was there again, low and thick, humming in the bones of my jaw. I checked my watch. 4:15 PM. Friday was in six hours. If I didn’t sign the demolition permit by close of...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful DinnerThe scratching begins at 3:17 AM, a rhythmic, dry screech that travels through the plaster of the study walls like a nail drawn slowly across a blackboard. You are Elias Thorne, forty-two years old, a junior archivist at the Blackwood Estate, and you are currently hunched over a ledger, your pen hovering over a line item for a set of porcelain vases that were never actually acquired. The...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant ThresholdThe morning the City Council voted to condemn St. Jude’s, I stood in the shadow of the central spire, my fingers trembling around the iron key that had been entrusted to me by a man who is no longer here. The building breathed. That is the only way to describe it; the limestone walls expanded and contracted with a slow, tidal rhythm, and the dust motes dancing in the shafts of light moved with...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale MeridianThorne. The summons came not from a herald, but from the heavy, rhythmic thud of the King’s personal guard against the oak doors of the antechamber, a sound that vibrated through the soles of Elias Thorne’s boots and up into the marrow of his knees. He stood in the dim, candlelit space, the air thick with the sour scent of damp wool and the metallic tang of fear, his hands wrapped tightly...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek