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 WitnessGalina Novikov woke with the taste of iron in her mouth, the same metallic tang that had haunted her sleep for three years. She lay still in the narrow cot, listening to the wind scrape against the windowpanes of the border outpost, a sound like dry leaves being torn apart. The dream was there again, the white crane standing in the snow, its neck bent in a curve that seemed to hold the weight...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful Cipher"Put it down, Fatima. You are not a witch, you are a fool." The voice belonged to Youssef, the town’s only notary, a man whose ink-stained fingers weighed more than his words. Fatima Nasser stood in the doorway of her apothecary, the smell of dried sage and iron clinging to her apron. She was forty years old, and her hands, usually steady as they ground roots and measured drops, trembled with a...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded AlibiThe letter from the Department of Corrections, bearing the seal of the state and the weight of fourteen years of service, sat on the steel desk of the intake office, its edges crisp and white against the grey laminate. Elias Thorne picked it up, his fingers rough from the cold outside, and read the single line that confirmed his transfer to Blackwood Station, a promotion he had earned with...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden ScarThe paper was thin, almost translucent, the kind of stock that felt like skin under your fingertips. You held it up to the fluorescent tube that hummed above your desk, a sound that had burrowed into your molars over the last three years, and watched the ink bleed slightly at the edges. It was a petition for "excessive grief," filed by a citizen in District Four, and the signature line was...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale EchoThe roast boar was served on a silver platter, the skin crackling under the chandeliers of the town hall, and for a moment the air smelled only of rendered fat and expensive wine. You watched Sheriff Aldous Vane pick up his fork, his face flushed with the pride of a man who believed he had outwitted the forest, when his hand trembled and the silverware clattered against the porcelain. He did...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden FarceThe port of Zahrat al-Bahr smelled of rotting kelp and coal dust, a thick, briny fog that settled into the wool of every coat and the lungs of every man who worked the docks. It was the season of the Clearances, a time when the whaling fleet returned empty, their holds light, and the city held its breath, waiting for the next tide to bring either mercy or ruin. Omar Kassem stood on the pier,...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded ChronicleElias, you are done for. The voice came from the shadows of the scriptorium, low and rough with the gravel of a man who had not slept in days, and it cut through the heavy silence of the room like a blade through wet wool. You froze, your quill hovering over the parchment, the tip trembling so violently that a single drop of ink fell, landing on the page with a soft, wet thud that seemed to...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale ShadowsDon’t move, or I’ll put a round in your knee. The words hung in the wet air, heavy and bureaucratic, clashing with the visceral, animal thrum of Elias Thorne’s own pulse. He stood in the mud of the farmhouse yard, his rifle leveled at the man inside the open door, the rain hammering the tin roof in a rhythm that sounded less like weather and more like a demand for payment. Elias was thirty-four...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale DoorThe sub-basement of the Ministry of Records smelled of damp plaster and the slow decay of paper, a scent that had long since permeated the fibers of Elias Thorne’s tweed jacket. He sat alone at a long oak desk, the only light source a single, buzzing electric lamp that cast long, trembling shadows against the stacked ledgers. His hands, stained with ink and trembling slightly from the cold,...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek