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 Pale VerdictThorne. The name hung in the air of the open-plan office, stripped of any warmth by the flat, bureaucratic monotone of Mr. Halloway. It was not a summons, exactly, but a correction, a reminder that Elias Thorne, forty-two, senior actuary, was still supposed to be here, still supposed to be functional, still supposed to be a part of the machine that grinded through the quarterly audit with the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant ClueThe banquet was held in the Ministry’s grand atrium, a cavern of polished marble and low, humming servers that smelled of ozone and old dust. Elias Thorne stood by the edge of the room, his tuxedo ill-fitting, his eyes fixed on the sealed crates of the late Chancellor’s files being unloaded by silent staff. He was forty-two, a mid-level archivist whose life had calcified into a routine of...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant PromiseThe fog does not smell of rain or damp earth, as you have been taught to expect in the border districts; it smells of ozone and old iron, a metallic tang that coats the back of your throat and settles into the crevices of your skin. You stand at the edge of the Old Mill district, the place where the map lines blur and the Bureau’s jurisdiction dissolves into a grey, shifting nothingness, and...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded RiverThe chafing dishes clatter as servants lift the lids, releasing a steam that smells of rosemary and old blood. You stand at the head of the long oak table, your spine rigid, your left arm resting on the polished surface where the blue line of the Vein pulses beneath your skin. It is a steady, rhythmic beat, a map of your life force that has never once faltered in forty-two years. The estate is...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful WitnessThe mist in Oakhaven did not rise so much as it settled, a heavy, damp wool that clung to the stone walls of the Guild Hall and the cobbled streets below. Inside the archive, the air was thick with the scent of dried oak gall and iron, a smell Elias Thorne had come to associate with the weight of his own ambition. At thirty, Elias was a scribe of the second rank, a position that offered him a...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant SummerThe dream was always the same: a man thrashing in black water, his mouth open not for air but for a sound that never came. Arthur Vane woke with the taste of rust on his tongue, the sheets twisted around his ankles like the roots of the willows that lined the riverbank behind the Blackwood Ironworks. He was thirty years old, a junior clerk with ink-stained fingers and a debt that grew by the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant Metropolis"You’re certain about the foundation?" The question hung in the dusty air of the workshop, a thin thread of sound that seemed to vibrate against the silence of the stopped clocks. Elias Thorne did not look up from the pendulum he held, his fingers stained with the black grease of old springs and the white powder of dried chalk. He was forty-five, a man whose face had been carved by the same...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale MeridianThe plaster fell in heavy, chalky chunks, striking my shoulders with a dull, dry thud that vibrated through my bones. I stood in the center of the nave of St. Jude’s, arms outstretched, trying to catch the ceiling as if I could hold up the sky with my bare hands. My palms were raw and bleeding, the skin peeling away to reveal the pink flesh beneath, but I did not feel the pain. I only felt the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant LegendThe ledger for the night shift at St. Jude’s General Hospital listed forty-two patients, three dozen vials of morphine, and exactly one hundred and twelve slices of black bread, each slice weighing precisely four ounces of dense, iron-heavy grain. I counted them as I always did, my fingers slick with the grease of the tins and the cold sweat of the corridor, because Dr. Vane had made it clear...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek