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 Distant GardenThe plastic tab of the keycard clicks against the desk, a sharp, dry sound that seems to echo in the windowless room, and you are still holding it, your thumb resting on the raised ridge where the magnetic strip should be, though there is no strip, only the smooth, cold surface of the card that Sarah slipped into your hand three minutes ago. You are Elias Thorne, forty-two, a mid-level actuary...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden DowntownElias. The word hung in the air, sharp and cold, before I could even open my eyes. It was not a greeting; it was a summons. I sat up in the narrow bed in the pantry, the mattress springs groaning under the sudden shift of weight, and the taste of ash was already on my tongue, gritty and persistent, like I had been chewing on the soot from a fire that had burned out hours ago. The light in the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden OathThe dream always begins with the sound of a gear slipping, a high-pitched whine that cuts through the fog before you even open your eyes. You are Elias Thorne, forty-two, and in the dream you are standing before the Great Oath Clock, your hands hovering over the brass face, waiting for permission to touch it. But you have no permission. Lord Vane, the magistrate whose voice is as cold and hard...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded ParadoxThe memorandum was three pages long, typed on the heavy, cream-colored paper that the Halloway Textile Company had used since the mill’s founding in 1842, and it sat on your desk with the quiet, suffocating weight of a verdict. You, Elias Thorne, Inspector of Internal Order, read it twice, the ink bleeding slightly into the fibers as the damp air of the factory floor pressed against the single...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded BouquetThe warden’s key turned in the lock above you with a sound like a bone snapping, sealing the cellar door, and then the heavy iron bar was slid into place, leaving you in the dark with the smell of damp rot and the echo of your own breathing. You are Elias, thirty-two years old, and you are sitting on the cold concrete floor of the town archive, your fingers trembling as you trace the faded ink...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded BouquetThe air in the Great Hall of Ashworth Manor hung thick with the scent of roasted pheasant and the metallic tang of fear, a cloying atmosphere that pressed against Margaret Holloway’s temples as she stood at the head of the long oak table, her hands trembling around the small, stoppered vial of amber syrup. For seven years, she had brewed this Elixir of Clarity in the cold, damp cellar, a labor...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant WhispersThe feast was a lie of meat and wine, a grotesque parody of celebration in the high court of Oria. I sat at the edge of the long table, my lungs burning with the damp chill that seeped through the stone walls, watching the Magistrate, Julian Thorne, raise his glass. He was a man who did not age, his face smooth as polished marble, his eyes holding a light that did not belong to the candlelit...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded AlibiThe glass in Elias Thorne’s left hand trembled, a fine, high-frequency vibration that turned the red wine into a blurred, pulsing ring. He was forty-two, a senior archivist at the Meridian Museum of History, and he stood in the center of the grand ballroom, surrounded by the board of directors in their tailored suits, their laughter sharp and bright in the air conditioning’s dry heat. He wanted...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant ClueThe date is the fourteenth of November, in the Year of the Grey Silence. I write this by the light of a tallow candle that sputters and dies, leaving me in a darkness so thick it feels like wool against the skin. I am Elias Thorne, forty-two years old, and I have been a Royal Constable for twenty years. My name is clean. My hands are clean. Yet here I sit, in the stone belly of the keep,...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek