0 Comments
0 Shares
1 Views
0 Reviews
Directory
Discover new ideas, create new connections and make new friends
-
Please log in to like, share and comment!
-
The Pale EchoThe candlelight in the restricted vault of Ashworth Hall flickered against the damp stone, casting long, trembling shadows that seemed to breathe in the stagnant air. Elara Vance, a woman of thirty whose reputation as a meticulous archivist had long since calcified into a label of dullness, held the silk glove in her trembling fingers, the fabric stained with a rust-colored substance that had...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale LetterOctober 14, 1924 The contract expires in twelve days, and the air in the sub-basement has begun to taste of copper and dry rot. I am thirty-two years old, yet my knuckles ache with the stiffness of a woman twice that age, a symptom of the Gray Wither that has saturated the stacks of the Ashworth Institute since the turn of the century. We are told it is merely a fungal bloom, a byproduct of the...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded RootThe feast hall smelled of roasted boar and stale wine, the air thick enough to chew on, as the courtiers of King Edward III laughed over their plates and ignored the trembling in my left hand. I am Sir Aldric, forty-two years old, a knight of the Royal Guard, and I am watching Thomas Bradshaw, my squire, cough blood into a linen napkin while pretending to eat a slice of bread. Thomas is...0 Comments 0 Shares 8 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant WoundElias Thorne woke with the taste of iron in his mouth and the sound of grinding in his teeth. It was the Hum. It was always the Hum. He sat up in the narrow cot, his hands shaking, and looked at the wall where the shadows seemed to breathe. He was thirty-four years old, a maintenance engineer in Sector 4, and he wanted only to fix the atmospheric scrubber so his daughter could breathe clean...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale TaleThe ledger was heavy, bound in leather that had gone soft and black with damp. Elias Thorne held it in his right hand, his fingers digging into the spine as if trying to squeeze the truth out of the pages. His left hand trembled, a fine, continuous vibration that he could not stop, regardless of the cold. He stood in the mud of the Northern Reach, the ground sucking at his boots with a wet,...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful AshesThe fog did not roll in so much as it exhaled, a cold, grey breath that swallowed the stone balcony of the Obsidian Spire. Kaelen stood at the railing, his hands white-knuckled against the cold iron, watching the silhouette of his wife, Elara, shrink into the mist. She did not look back. She walked toward the Dissenters, toward the trap that the High Warden had set, and Kaelen felt the ground...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden QuestThe air in the sub-basement archive did not circulate; it stagnated, thick with the scent of damp rot and the sweet, cloying decay of cellulose that had long since surrendered to the elements. Elias Thorne, a man whose professional life was defined by the meticulous preservation of the past, sat hunched over a steel table that bore the scars of decades of careless handling, his fingers...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded Bouquet1893, November 14. The lilies are in the corner again. They pulse with a faint, rhythmic light, like veins beneath translucent skin. I have not seen them in three days, but the scent remains, cloying and sweet, masking the smell of carbolic acid and damp stone. I am Thomas Bradshaw, constable of the Blackwood Asylum, and I am not mad. The institution claims I am. The Warden, my former mentor,...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded RiverThe water did not merely flow; it remembered, a cold, liquid archive of every lie Elias Thorne had ever told to keep his institute afloat, and as he stood on the muddy bank of the Faded River, the surface rippled in a rhythm that was not wind, but the distinct, low-frequency hum of his late mentor’s voice calling his name. Elias, forty-two and hollowed out by the relentless arithmetic of...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek