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 MistThe fog arrived at Blackwater like an old widow—uninvited, lingering, certain of its welcome. It came down the moors in sheets of pallid grey, wrapping the cobbles and chimney pots in a damp embrace that no candle could pierce. Eleanor Vane knew it would come. Everyone in the village knew. The mist did not so much descend as remember itself into being, as though the valley had simply exhaled a...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded RiverThe glass in your pocket is cutting into your thigh, a sharp, metallic whisper that vibrates against the bone like a secret too large for the flesh to hold. You are Elias Thorne, Inspector of the Oakhaven Industrial District, and you are thirty-four years old, a man who has spent the last decade polishing the brass of a system that is slowly rusting from the inside out. The year is 1912, and...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded ShieldThe magistrate is dead. Edna Dobbs stood in the doorway of the county clerk’s office, the envelope clutched so tightly in her hand that the paper had begun to tear. The man behind the desk, a young clerk with eyes like wet stones, did not look up from his ledger. The room was cold, a sterile chill that seeped through Edna’s coat, though the spring air outside was heavy with late frost and dying...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded RiverThe letter was stamped with the royal seal, the wax cracked and cold, the ink a faded brown that smelled of old blood. Elias Thorne held it in his gloved hands, the leather stiff from years of riding, and read the directive that stripped him of his authority. It was a simple thing, a bureaucratic erasure, stating that Constable Julian Thorne was to be released on grounds of procedural...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful WitnessThe chandeliers in the grand hall of the Whitmore estate hang like suspended judgments, their crystal prisms fracturing the gaslight into a thousand cold, staring eyes. You stand at the edge of the dance floor, your uniform pressed to a rigid, uncomfortable perfection, your badge heavy against your chest like a stone in a pocket. It is 1912, and the city of Ashford hums with the low, industrial...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful SagaAct I Ruth Sturgis remembered the weight of the iron latch before she remembered the cold, a specific, grinding heaviness that had lived in her shoulders for three years of service at the old manor, now a crumbling monastery of stone and debt. She stood alone in the outer courtyard, the frost biting through the soles of her boots, watching the late beans in the garden die under a white crust...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful Witness"I have the figures," I said, tapping the quill against the rim of the inkwell. The wetness of the ink was wrong. It had not dried. It was still glistening under the gaslight, as if it had been laid down only moments before I opened the book. Monsieur Bergerot looked at me, then at the page, then back at me. His face was a mask of bored irritation. "You are confusing the archives with the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded ParadoxThe frostbite had set into Elias Thorne’s left hand, the fingers stiff and purple, curled like the claws of a dead bird, as he pressed his palm against the shimmering mist that barred the garden path. It was 1912, and the air in the valley of Harrow Creek tasted of coal smoke and wet iron, a cold so sharp it felt like a blade drawn across the skin. Elias was forty-two, a sergeant in the local...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful LetterThe frost had not yet claimed the garden at Blackwood Asylum, but the air tasted of it, a metallic sharpness that coated the back of my throat like a film of rust. I stood before the Path of Reason, that long, winding ribbon of grey flagstones that cut through the center of the grounds, and I knew with a certainty that defied logic that it was crumbling from within. For seven years I have...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek