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 WoundThe orchid is hungry, I said. I spoke to the leaves, to the fused veins in my own wrist, to the gray air that smelled of wet ash and old copper. I am Elias. I am thirty-two. I used to study how roots find water in the dark. Now I dig for it in the mud of the Sector 4 labor pits. The gray city does not have seasons. It has quotas. My quota was forty cubic yards of silt. I managed thirty-eight....0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale DoorMy hands were already moving when I realized I was not in the barracks, but standing in the mud of the courtyard, my sword raised and Lord Vichai’s smile frozen on his face. The air was heavy with wet earth and the distant, metallic tang of the river, a cold that seeped into my bones faster than the heat of my own blood could counteract it. I had wanted only to secure my brother’s release...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden SongThe dream was always the same. A golden wren, small and bright, pinned under Elias Thorne’s thumb. It did not bleed. It simply ceased to be, its feathers dissolving into a fine, dry powder that drifted through his fingers. He woke at 0300, the sweat cooling on his skin, the silence of the safehouse heavy in his ears. Elias was thirty-two, a mid-level officer in Military Intelligence, and he had...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden CrossingThe ink is wrong. You say it to the empty air of the basement, your voice sounding thin and brittle against the stone walls. It is not iron-gall. It is not oak-gall. It is something else, something that smells faintly of sulfur and old copper, a scent that has clung to the fibers of the manuscript for eighty years. You run a gloved finger over the script, the letters blurred by age and...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant NightmareThe rain in Oakhaven did not fall so much as it seeped, a grey, persistent damp that soaked into the mortar of the city and the bones of the men who lived within it. Elias Thorne sat in his cramped office in the Municipal Archives, the smell of mildew and old paper clinging to his collar, staring at the ledger of his mother’s final year. He was forty-two, a man whose face had been hollowed out...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded ApartmentThe rain in Oakhaven did not fall so much as it hung, a gray, weeping curtain that turned the cobblestones into slick mirrors of the sky. Elias Thorne, Inquisitor of the Third Circuit, stood before the Weeping Wall, his breath misting in the cold air as he watched the black sap that should have been oozing from the ancient rock face. It was dry. The stone was pale, cracked, and silent, a stark...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden EchoesThe ink is dry before you finish the stroke, a fact that feels less like a miracle and more like a personal insult, as the nib scratches against the vellum with a sound that is too loud in the silent, fog-choked scriptorium of Oakhaven. You are Elias Thorne, forty-five years old, and your hands, which have spent three decades transcribing the village’s sacred ledger, now tremble with a wasting...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale CircusThe rain in the border town of Kael did not fall so much as it hung, a suspended gray curtain that smelled of wet ash and old iron. Elias Thorne coughed, a wet, rattling sound that seemed to shake the fillings in his teeth, and wiped a smear of blood from his lip with a sleeve that was already dark with moisture. He was forty-five, a man who had spent two decades tracking missing persons and...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded ApartmentAct I "Notice of Immediate Cancellation of Wartime Contract No. 402-B. Effective upon receipt. Return to sender if unclaimed. Authority: Bureau of Economic Stabilization." Romain Fruge held the paper until the edges softened under the sweat of his palms, the ink blurring slightly into a grey smear that looked less like bureaucratic ink and more like the dust that had been settling on the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek