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 Wistful ShowThe parchment lay flat on the rough-hewn table, its edges curling slightly in the damp air of the highland camp. It was a simple list, written in Elara’s shaky, spidery hand, detailing the ingredients required to brew the tonic for Thomas Bradshaw’s failing lungs, but the final line was circled in red ink: *The Moon-Root, found only in the Whispering Caves, requires a life-force exchange.*...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden RitualMy hands were deep in the dough when the rain hit the window, sideways and hard, blurring the grey light of the morning into a smear of wet stone. I was kneading the last of the golden yeast, that thick, blue-veined paste that hummed against my palms like a living thing, and I knew with a cold certainty that this was the final attempt, the last chance to secure the Master’s Seal before the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale LetterChapter One "You have until the moon clears the ridge, or I take the house and the breath in your lungs," the enforcer said, his voice flat as a stone dropped in a well. Meryem Simsek stood in the cold of her workshop, the weight of the pale vessel in her hands so heavy it pulled her shoulders down toward the floor. The glass was chipped at the rim, a jagged white scar that mirrored the erosion...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful GridChapter One "Notice of Dismissal: Effective immediately, Thị Mai is stripped of rank for alleged sedition. Report to the border garrison." The ink was still wet when Thị Mai folded the paper, the smell of iron gall sharp in the damp air of the dressmaker’s front room where she had spent the last three weeks mending uniforms that no longer fit her body. She was thirty years old, a senior guard...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale DanceElara. The name was not spoken aloud, but it hung in the damp air of the scriptorium like the scent of rotting figs, summoned by the silence of the sleeping abbey. You are thirty-two, a scribe of the second order, and for the past six weeks you have been stealing hours from the dark to transcribe the final, forbidden chapter of the *Codex Aurea*. The abbot, Brother Thomas, believes you are...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful AshesThe Spire did not creak, or groan, or settle into the earth with the weight of its own stone; it hummed, a low, resonant vibration that I felt in my teeth before I heard it in my ears. I sat in the command chair, the leather cracked and peeling under my weight, staring at the petition form where my daughter’s name, Mara, was written in ink that seemed to bleed slightly into the fibers of the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden CircuitOctober 14, 1893. The ink in my hand is fading before it has fully set, a slow evaporation that mirrors the state of my own vitality. I am writing this by the light of a single tallow candle, the flame guttering in the draft that seeps through the rotting window frame of my study. I am forty years old, and I have spent the last twenty pursuing the ghosts of dead languages, believing that to...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden CrossingZainab Sial had not slept in three days, and the smell of wet wool hung in the kiln room like a second skin. She sat before the loom, her fingers raw from the war levy that had taken her husband’s wages, leaving only the debt to be paid by the youngest. The Duke’s men had come at dawn, their boots clogging the mud, demanding the wedding cloth be finished before the midsummer rain turned the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant MetropolisI “You will not be struck off the register,” Captain Aram said, his voice flat as the stone floor beneath their boots. Hovhannes Dimitrov stood in the damp cellar, the air heavy with liniment and wet wool, his left knee locked in a rigid, unnatural angle that screamed with every shift of weight. He was thirty years old, a...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek