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 Golden RitualThe rain tapped against the glass of the forty-second floor, a rhythmic percussion that did nothing to settle the tremor in Elias Thorne’s left hand. He sat in the blue glow of his workstation, the only light in the sterile apartment, staring at the digital rendering of the Meridian Tower. The deadline was Friday. The project was his. The lead architect title hung in the air, heavy and...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden CompassThe quill was slick, too slick, moving across the vellum with a wet, sucking resistance that felt less like writing and more like bleeding. Thomas held his breath, the tip of the nib trembling as he traced the final word of the passage, the ink pooling in the grooves of the script like black blood refusing to clot. Above him, the stone ceiling of the cellar pressed down, damp and cold, smelling...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded GuestThe debt was eleven pounds, four shillings, and two pence, a sum that sat in your ledger like a stone in your shoe, grinding against the bone of your livelihood every time you shifted your weight in the archive chair. You counted the coins in your purse three times, the copper heads dull and green with age, knowing they were not enough to cover the auction fee for the silver locket that hung on...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful VoyageChapter One My fingers were black with grease and the brass weight was hot, hotter than the iron of the forge that hummed in the distance, a sound I had learned to read like a barometer. I was Randi Aas, and I was forty-two years old, though the ledger at the estate office claimed otherwise, and I was trying to keep the great pendulum of the Halloway house swinging while my own heart stuttered...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded ShieldOrla Fitzpatrick’s hands were already black with soot when the brass shield cracked, a thin white line running from the rim to the center like a vein of frost in winter glass. She stood on the slick, oil-stained floor of the tithe barn, the air heavy with wet grain and the low, rhythmic thrum of the grain separator turning overhead. The sound was a constant, grinding pressure in her ears, a...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded RuinChapter One "Item 4: Structural Integrity, Sector 7. Status: Failing. Remedy: Immediate." The words hung in the air of the dock, sharp and cold as the ice out on the river. Kadir Celik stared at the inspection tag pinned to the hull of the Anatolia, the metal flaking orange rust onto his glove. He was thirty-two, an orbital dock welder, and his hands shook, not from the cold, but from the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded ChronicleThe autumn wind in Oakhaven carried the scent of wet earth and decay, a sharp, metallic tang that clung to the collar of Elias Thorne’s wool coat as he shouldered his satchel and stepped away from the village square, the departure from his post as archivist felt less like a resignation and more like a severing of the umbilical cord to the living world. He was forty years old, a man whose life...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful CrossroadsThe golden cup in Sir Aldric’s hand was heavy, filled with wine that tasted of iron and old leaves, and he held it as if it were the only thing in the world that had not yet been taken from him. The feast at King’s Hollow roared around him, a cacophony of lute strings and the clatter of steel on stone, but Aldric’s eyes were fixed on the window where the moonlight caught the silver hair of his...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden RitualThe light in the bedsit was the color of old brass, slanting through the cracked window onto the linoleum where I sat, my hands wrapped around the fractured gold brooch that had been Nana’s last gift to me before the fever took her. I was forty-two, and the walls of this cramped room on the Swahili coast felt less like shelter and more like the inside of a held breath, tight and suffocating....0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek