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 ParadoxThe smell of mildew and stale incense hung heavy in the infirmary, a damp blanket that seemed to settle into the very pores of Brother Thomas’s skin, pressing against the ink-stained lines of his fingers as he hunched over the worn oak desk, his quill scratching a rhythmic, desperate cadence against the parchment. He was forty years old, though his spine curved like a question mark and his...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful MirrorThe fog did not drift; it crawled, a grey tongue licking at the hem of Thomas’s cloak. He stood before the shattered remains of the Blackwood gate, his hand white-knuckled around the hilt of his sword. Thirty years old, a squire of no particular renown, yet he carried the weight of a kingdom’s shame on his narrow shoulders. His father, Sir Aldric, lay dying in the castle keep, his breath...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale BridgeYou’re going to have to sign this, Elias, or I’ll have your head on a pike by Thursday, and I don’t care if the iron is singing to you; it’s a piece of metal, not a god, and you’re a man who owes the town a working span, not a poetry recital. Mayor Vane stood at the edge of the inspection platform, his breath pluming in the cold air that smelled of wet rust and diesel, his face a mask of...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale BonsaiThe rain had been falling since four in the morning, a steady, gray drizzle that turned the cobblestones of Oakhaven into slick, reflective mirrors, and Elias Thorne stood before the locked office of Director Halloway, his knuckles white around the handle of his leather briefcase, waiting for a man who had promised to see him by nine. "You are late, Elias," a voice called from the hallway, dry...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded BouquetThe black roses in Elias Thorne’s pocket had not wilted, nor had they decayed, a fact that sat in his stomach like a stone of lead, cold and heavy against the tremor that had taken permanent residence in his hands three years ago when the fever took his wife and left him alone with the silence of Blackwood Hall and the debts that clung to the walls like damp. He stood in the rotting foyer, the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden SongThe coal is gone, Elias. Do you hear me? The bin is empty, the floorboards are bare, and the wind is coming through the cracks in the shutters with a sound like teeth chattering. October 14, 1923. I am twelve years old, and I am afraid of the dark, but more than that, I am afraid of the silence. The cabin, a squat timber thing we built from logs cut in the autumn of my father’s death, sits on a...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful ShowThe pantry door, a slab of oak heavy with the scent of damp earth and stale tallow, had been locked from the outside for the better part of four hours, a silent imprisonment that felt less like a punishment and more like a slow suffocation of the air itself. Elias sat on a crate of potatoes, his knees drawn up to his chest, the cold seeping through the thin wool of his trousers, listening to...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden SongThe trowel in Elias’s hand was heavy, the wood handle worn smooth by years of grip. He pressed it into the wet mortar, the gritty paste sticking to the steel blade. Outside, the wind picked up, whistling through the broken slates of the roof above him. He was thirty-two, a junior archivist with a degree in history and a bank account that was slowly bleeding out. He was here to fix St. Jude’s...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden ScarThe fog in Oakhaven did not roll in; it sat, heavy and wet, pressing the houses into the earth. Mara stood in the archive, the door locked behind her, her hand resting on the cold steel of the filing cabinet. On her lapel, the golden brooch hummed. It was a small, unassuming thing, a circle of polished gold, but the vibration was distinct, a buzz against her skin like a trapped insect. She had...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek