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 FarceThe iron compass in Elias Thorne’s pocket had ticked for forty-two years, a steady, metallic heartbeat against his hip. He counted the seconds between each tick as he walked down the cobblestone street of Millhaven, the numbers falling like rain against the wet stone. One, two, three. The town smelled of wet ash and coal dust, the air thick with the static charge of a storm that had been...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale TowerThe ink is always there when you lie, Elias. It blooms in the creases of your neck, a dark, wet bruise that no amount of scrubbing can lift. You have worn this secret for twenty years, a border patrol agent chasing the horizon from the jagged teeth of the Rio Grande to the high desert of New Mexico, believing that if you just keep moving, the stain will dry and fade. But it does not. It waits....0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful SkylineArthur Pendelton stood on the roof of the old printing works in Shoreditch, his hands deep in the pockets of his wool coat, watching the London skyline bleed into evening. The sky was the colour of tarnished silver, and the skyline—those glass towers in the City, the brick chimneys of East London, the distant spire of St Paul's—swam in the heat haze rising from tarmac and hot asphalt. He had...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale TowerChapter One The island wakes before the sun, a grinding of millstones and the low, rhythmic thud of hoes breaking the red earth, a labor that stretches from the delta’s mouth to the high ridges where the wind splits the fruit. In the parish registry office, where the light is thin and grey through the shutters, Oscar Morisset stands before the desk, his hands trembling not from cold but from...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden FarceAct I Marguerite Sabatier had held the taxi medallion for three years, bought at the peak of the market when the dot-com bubble was still a fever dream, and now she sat in the cab with the engine idling, watching the soot from the reclamation yard settle on the dashboard like a fine, grey ash. The town of Vael was dying, not with a roar but with the quiet, suffocating weight of a tide that...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful MirrorMy hands were black with soot, scrubbing the last of the glass dust from the mold before the kiln cooled. I am Gro Nystrom, forty-two, and I was already late. The fog in Veldt did not lift; it thickened, a physical weight pressing against the windows of the mill, turning the streetlights into blurred halos of amber. I needed the pension. My son, Aar, was sick, and the doctor’s fees ate through...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden SuspectThe brass stamp sat in your palm, cold and heavy, a small weight of tarnished metal that had not seen the light of day in three years. You turned it over, watching the dust catch in the grooves of the oak leaf you had carved into it a decade ago, when your hands were steady and your mind was clear. The smell of acid etched into the back of your throat, a sour taste that no amount of water could...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden HarborThe mortar is wrong again, Elias. You look down at the joint between the two blocks of granite, and the grey paste has turned the color of bruised flesh. It weeps a thin, viscous fluid that smells of copper and old rain. You have been laying stone for thirty years, since the day Silas died and left you his chisel, his debt, and his name. The rule is simple, carved into the lintel of the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden MasterChapter One The heat in Andalusia did not break at night; it merely changed its texture, becoming a dry, physical weight that pressed against the skin like a wet wool blanket. Antonio Iturbe stood in the queue outside the temporary employment agency in the red dust of the olive estates, his hands resting on the leather steering wheel of his funeral hearse, the engine off, the silence inside the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek