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 SkylineThe static on the radio was not white noise; it was a frequency of rot. "Thorne, you are being relieved of your post," Colonel Vance said, his voice flat as a sheet of ice. "Pack your effects. You are discharged effective immediately." Elias Thorne did not look up from the clipboard in his hands. He was forty years old, and his knees had begun to complain in the damp air of the watchtower three...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded BouquetThe dream was always the same, a ritual of damp earth and heavy silence that Elias Thorne had endured for twenty years without variation. He was lying in the ground, not dead but buried, the soil packed tight against his chest, his shattered left hand pressed flat against the wooden lid of the coffin as it slowly caved in under the weight of the yard. In the dream, he could feel the individual...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded PhotographThe ink in the well was black and cold, and I counted the minutes as the nib dried on the parchment, each stroke a small, deliberate act of defiance against the damp that seeped through the floorboards of my office. I had written the resignation letter to High Command in a single, unbroken session, the words simple and direct: *I request immediate release from my post at Blackwood Asylum to...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale VerdictThe quill tip caught on the parchment, dragging a thin black line through the column of figures. I held my breath, the inkwell cold against my palm, watching the wet stain spread like a bruise under the surface of the skin. The scriptorium was silent save for the scratch of other pens and the distant, rhythmic thud of the rain against the high, arched windows. I am Elias, the King’s Scribe, and...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded PortraitThe count of coins in the iron chest was precise: forty sovereigns, each stamped with the face of a king long dead, their edges worn smooth by the thumb of Lord Vane’s steward. Elias Thorne did not touch them, for the gold was a promise of silence, a price for looking away, and he had spent twenty years in the mist-choked village of Oakhaven learning that looking away was the only way to...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale DoorThorne. The name was shouted by the rogue guard, a guttural bark that cut through the wet noise of the city as Elias Thorne’s sword arm locked against the man’s cross-guard, their bodies a tangled knot of wet wool and iron in the narrow alley off the Market Square. The rain in the city of Aethelgard did not wash things clean; it merely made the grime slicker, turning the cobblestones into a...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant PromiseThe check bounced. That was the first thing. Not the insult, not the cold in the room, but the rubber stamp on the paper that said insufficient funds. I looked at Silas. He didn’t look at me. He was looking at his hand, turning a coin over and over, the metal catching the light of the chandelier. It was a heavy coin. It looked like it weighed a pound. "Four thousand," I said. My voice sounded...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant WoundThe fire was not meant to be seen, but you saw it anyway, the orange tongue licking the dry throat of the incinerator chute, a slow, mechanical chewing of the past that left a taste of ash in your mouth. You stood in the archive, Elias Thorne, thirty-four years old and bent under the weight of a pension that felt less like a reward and more like a leash, watching the Ministry of Memory consume...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale AltarThe glass walls of the Bureau of Civic Integrity did not reflect the room; they swallowed it. Arthur Penhaligon sat behind the pale oak desk, the wood cold against his forearms, and held the forged invoice in his trembling hand. It was a single sheet of paper, yet it felt heavier than the building itself. Outside, the city churned in a gray haze, but inside, the air was still and smelled...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek