0 Comments
0 Shares
1 Views
0 Reviews
Directory
Discover new ideas, create new connections and make new friends
-
Please log in to like, share and comment!
-
The Distant ThresholdThe ledger showed three hundred and twelve souls, each marked with a red ink cross for the tithe, a black square for the grain, and a small circle for the labor owed to the Citadel. Elias counted them twice, the quill scratching a dry, rhythmic note against the parchment, his eyes dry and fixed on the column of names that stretched down to the bottom of the page. He was thirty-two, a captain in...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden MazeThe pen hovered over the ledger, the nib scratching a thin, black line into the paper as I watched the ink bleed slightly into the grain. I was thirty-four years old, and my hands, once trained to hold a rifle steady in the mud, now trembled only when I tried to sign for wages that would not cover the rent. The smell of the bank office hit me before I saw the room: a sharp, chemical scent of...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded Dust"Three days, Elias. That is all I can offer before the lease is revoked." The words hung in the air, heavy and wet, before Halloway turned back to his ledger, his pen scratching a final, decisive line across the paper. Elias stood in the doorway of the office, the rain from the platform still clinging to his coat in cold, dark streaks, and felt the weight of the pocket watch in his breast...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful IncenseChapter One "You’ll pay for that grain, or I’ll pay for the silence," Jelena Georgiev said, her voice scraping against the humid air of the sealed barracks where the heatwave had trapped them for three days without a single breath of night. The smell hit her before the sight did: a cloying, rotting sweetness that clung to the back of her throat, the scent of the Wistful Incense plant wilting in...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale LetterAct I The archive smelled of wet wool and old iron. Teresa Bellini stood before Director Halloway’s desk, her hands flat on the mahogany, feeling the grain shift under her palms. She wanted the truth, or at least the silence that followed it. The Bureau of Records was a place of rigid lines and colder judgments, a machine that ground down anyone who did not fit its gears. A letter lay on the...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale TaleThe ledger weighs three pounds. You know this because you have lifted it forty times this week, checking the weight of the damp against the weight of the paper. It is a heavy thing to hold in a cold room. The air in the St. Jude’s records office smells of wet stone and old ink, a scent that settles in the back of the throat like dust. You are Elara. You are thirty-two. You are counting the days...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden CircuitChapter One “Did you see the ledger, Esperanza? The numbers just... moved.” I looked up from the soldering iron, my hands still smelling of rosin and ozone, to find Dr. Aris standing in the doorway of the transit hotel room, his face pale beneath the harsh fluorescent hum that buzzed through the walls like a trapped wasp. We were three months into Mateo’s catatonia, three months of me staring...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden EchoesChapter One "Inventory Record 44-B: Viability declining. Batch 7, dried beans, 12% loss. Batch 14, wheat berries, 40% loss. Recommendation: Discard. Do not plant." The ink on the ledger page was still wet when I signed my name, the black stroke bleeding slightly into the porous paper, a dark vein in the dry, cracked earth of my desk. I am Bernardino Pinto, the registrar of the seed vaults, and...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant MetropolisAgnieszka Kaminski knew that wool, once it had absorbed the damp of a Polish winter, did not merely hold water but remembered the shape of the void it had filled. She stood in the conservation studio, a room sealed off from the rest of the museum by layers of dust and silence, her hands hovering over the late Mrs. Kaminski’s coat. The fabric was a heavy, charcoal grey, the weave dense enough to...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek