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 BonsaiElias Thorne. The name was called out by the cold, a sharp, metallic sound that seemed to scrape against the inside of his ribs as he bent over the mahogany desk of the late Mayor Halloway. It was three in the morning, the hour when the city outside the high windows of the archive shed its pretenses and lay bare, a sprawling grid of wet asphalt and flickering sodium lights. Elias was forty-two,...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded ChronicleThorne. The word hung in the air of the magistrate’s office, heavy and sharp as a struck flint. I stood with my hands behind my back, the leather cuffs biting into the sweat of my wrists. Magistrate Vane did not look up from his ledger. His quill scratched a line, then another. The sound was dry, like a bone snapping under a boot. "Constable," he said, not raising his head. "You have filed a...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful CampusMy hand was already stiff when I reached for the baton, the leather grip slick with sweat that would not evaporate. The porcelain seal in my other pocket pressed against my hip, a cold, hard weight that had become part of my skeleton. It was the winter of 1912, and the air in the Sapporo Exchange Hall tasted of coal dust and expensive perfume, a mixture that coated the back of my throat. I am...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden CompassThe letter lay on the workbench, the ink still wet, the paper trembling slightly under the weight of my own hand. I had been staring at it for an hour, the light from the streetlamp outside cutting a sharp, yellow rectangle across the linoleum, illuminating the dust motes that swirled in the stagnant air of the shop. The words were simple enough, a demand for the return of the escapement wheel,...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant JourneyThe dream is always of the line. It is a single, unbroken stroke of black ink, stretching across a white void, vibrating with a tension that feels like a snapped wire. You wake with the taste of iron on your tongue, the cellar air thick and cold against your skin. It is 1912, the year the world turns on a hinge of steel and steam, and you are Elias Thorne, forty-two years old, a master engraver...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded PortraitThe letter lay on the desk, its seal broken, the paper stiff with the damp of the cellar below where the Archive’s oldest charts slept. It was a notice from the Board of Directors, dry and absolute, informing me that my funds had been frozen pending a review of my accountancy, a bureaucratic noose tightened around my neck as I prepared for the winter solstice commission. I am Elias Thorne,...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale ShadowsI The rain had stopped for nine days, leaving the pampas air heavy with wet wool and rusted iron, and I sat in the corner of the station, my shadow pale and translucent, anchored to the floorboards like a stain that would not scrub out. I remember the cold first, a damp chill that settled into the joints of my hands, which were now useless, stiff as dried leather. The keyboard of the closing...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden CircuitAct I Vesna Ionescu’s fingers bled into the wet wool, the red mixing with the grey to make a color that looked like old rust. The hum of the thread was in her teeth, a low vibration that had started three days ago and would not stop. She pulled the shuttle through the warp, the motion mechanical, the rhythm steady, though her heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird. The tower was...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant TempleChapter One Isandro Talamantes hauled the crate up the wet steps of the customs house, the wood splintering under the weight of ten years of silence. He was forty, his back aching from the piano moves that kept his student debt alive, and he carried a bronze seal in his pocket that hummed whenever a lie was spoken near it. The rain in Mexico City did not fall; it pressed down, finding every...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek