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 Faded RuinThe chisel slips. Blood beads on the stone, bright and hot against the gray dust of the Old Spire. You are twelve. Your name is Elias. The wind through the broken archways does not howl; it speaks. It says *Elias*, low and wet, like a tongue against a tooth. You do not flinch. You have been listening for three years. You are a scribe in the city of Ostra, a place of concrete and silence where...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful SagaThe rain in Ashworth did not wash the city clean; it merely rearranged the grime, slicking the cobblestones of Ironside Street until they shone with the oily sheen of the tanneries that lined the riverbank. Inspector Elias Thorne stood in the doorway of the Municipal Sanitation Office, his hand resting on the brass knob, feeling the familiar, treacherous flutter of his heart against his ribs, a...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale DanceThe letter sat on the workbench, its ink faded to the color of dried blood. You had not meant to find it. The clock, the Pale Dance, was due in three days, and your hands were already shaking. The tremor in your right wrist had started six months ago, a subtle vibration that made the placement of a hairspring a matter of luck rather than skill. You were forty-two, a master horologist, and you...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant Affair14 October 1893 The rain has not stopped for three days, and it has seeped into the floorboards of the Municipal Archive until the wood swells and groans underfoot like a living thing. I am sitting at my desk, the only one still in use on the third floor, waiting for the morning mail that will either confirm my position as Chief Archivist or dissolve it entirely. In my left pocket, the iron key...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful CipherOctober 14, 2023. The silence in the house is a physical weight, pressing against my eardrums with the force of deep water, and I am standing in the kitchen with the phone still in my hand, the receiver cold and dead against my cheek, listening to the rhythmic, wet sound of my own breathing as it struggles to fill the vacuum left by Mr. Thorne’s heart. He is dead, the doctor said, a heart...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded GuestThe fog rolled into Oakhaven like a tide that had forgotten how to recede. Elias Thorne stepped off the train, his boots sinking into the mud of the platform, the cold salt smell of the Grey Sickness already clinging to his skin. He was thirty-four, a constable with a badge he no longer wore, and he wanted only to prove that his father had not been a negligent fool. The city council had...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded QuadrantThe smell of boiled grain and copper hung thick in the air of Cell Block C, a suffocating blanket that Elias Thorne could taste on the back of his tongue. He stood in the doorway, his uniform pressed and stiff, watching the paramedics lift his son, Julian, from the floor. The boy was nineteen, broad-shouldered and strong, but he lay limp in their arms, his face a mask of pale bruises and...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant GhostThe ink on the parchment bled, not spreading but rising, forming a dark, circular lake where the highland peaks should have been. You watched it happen from the safety of your study, the fire dying in the grate, the silence of the house pressing against the glass. Mara had been missing for three days. Three days of silence from the highlands, three days of your maps becoming lies, and three...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded PhotographThe lead cames snapped with a sound like a dry twig breaking in a silent room, and I watched the shard of cobalt blue fall to the floor, shattering into a dozen sharp, weeping pieces. I knelt in the dust of my workshop, the smell of hot tin and old varnish thick in my throat, and tried to pick up the fragments, but my hands were trembling so violently that I dropped them again. The glass sang....0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek