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 Faded QuadrantThe driver, a thick-necked man named Silas, called out to you before the horses even began to pull, his voice cracking against the damp November air, "Mr. Thorne! The mud on King’s Way is deeper than the council report suggested. Are we certain this carriage holds together?" You did not answer immediately. You sat in the corner of the hired cab, your hand pressed flat against your chest,...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant NightmareThe first cut took four seconds, the blade singing a high, thin note against the cellulose-like bark of the vine that had erupted from the baseboard of Cell 4, and you counted the seconds in your head as you pulled the pruning shears back, watching the sap bead and dry into a black, resinous crust before your eyes. You were Elias Thorne, forty-two years old, a senior federal agent with nineteen...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful SkylineThe hammer struck the limestone, a dull, wet thud that traveled up through the soles of my boots and settled in the marrow of my shins, and I looked up to see Heinrich standing in the doorway, his face pale with the particular strain of a man who has been shouting for hours. He did not speak, but the silence between us was heavy with the dust that hung in the slanted afternoon light, a fine...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden CompassThe silver locket was warm in Thomas’s palm, the metal having absorbed the heat of his body during the long walk from the cottage. It was a small, oval thing, tarnished by years of sweat and soil, but the silver inside was still bright enough to catch the low sun of the August afternoon. He held it between his thumb and forefinger, feeling the slight dent on the left side where his father had...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded MasqueradeThe ink on the ledger was still wet, a dark, viscous smear that Elias Thorne watched with the grim patience of a man watching frost creep across a windowpane. He stood in the center of the Magistrate’s office, the air thick with the scent of beeswax and stale tobacco, his hands hanging loose at his sides, heavy with the weight of the last three days’ walk from Oakhaven. He was a Ranger, a man...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful DinnerAct I The water in the public baths was always too hot for the hands and too cold for the feet. Xiu He stood under the iron spout, watching the steam curl into the tin roof above, the metal groaning as it expanded in the summer heat. He was thirty-two years old, and his knees ached with a dull, persistent throb that no amount of soaking would fix. He had served twenty years in the river guard,...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant MetropolisAct I The border town of Santa Fe del Valle hummed with the mechanical grind of the customs checkpoint, where trucks groaned under the weight of frozen meat and raw cotton, their drivers shouting across the line in a mix of Spanish and English that frayed at the edges like old rope. The single bronze bell on the municipal clock tower rang the hour, a sharp, metallic note that cut through the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded ParadoxThe cold case file was a manila folder, its edges soft as old skin, held in your hands as you sat on the edge of your bed in Oakhaven. The paper smelled of mildew and stale coffee, a scent that had become your own personal perfume over the last three months. You were Elias Thorne, forty-two, a criminologist who had lost his license, his reputation, and his mind in the span of a single year....0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded GuestThe parchment is damp. It sticks to your fingers, and the ink blots where your skin has thinned to paper. You are Thomas, a scribe of the Guild, and you hold the marriage license for Elena in your right hand because your left is no longer yours. It is a ruin of blackened, flaking flesh, the erosion spreading from the knuckles to the wrist like a bruise that refuses to fade. The fever in the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek