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 OathChapter One Did anyone else hear the wind counting the bottles in the crates? Geertje de Vries stood in the back room of the nail salon, the air thick with the sharp, chemical bite of acetone and the low, droning hum of the ventilation fan, watching the light from the streetlamps stretch long and thin across the linoleum. She was thirty years old, and her hands, usually steady enough to file a...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant LegendChapter One Hoa remembered the weight of the ink long after his hands were washed, a cold, wet pressure that settled into the creases of his knuckles and refused to leave, so that when he later sat on the bench outside the temple granary, he could still feel the dampness of the ledger entry that had signed his life away. It was a Tuesday, the kind of day in the delta where the ice storm had...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful IncenseAct I It is only later, standing in the grey sleet with the smell of burnt pine still clinging to her wool coat, that Estrid Lund understands the weight of the silence she has carried, a silence that began not with a bang but with the scratch of a quill on parchment in a room that smelled of damp stone and old ink. She remembers the morning the demolition crews arrived at the central library,...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden FarceThorne. You’re late. Halloway’s voice cut through the static of the repository, sharp and dry as the dust that coated the shelves. I straightened my spine, feeling the ache in my lower back that had become a permanent resident, a lodger who refused to pay rent. The night shift at the St. Jude’s Municipal Repository was not a job; it was a penance, a slow grinding of the soul against the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant BladeAct I Văn Hung, thirty-two, stood in the throne room of the Iron Court, desperate to secure his brother’s pardon before the dawn bell. The air hummed with a low, metallic vibration, a sound like a wire pulled too tight. It was the sound of the old world holding its breath. The floor was marble, cold and slick, but the blade on the wall, his mirror, began to bleed rust into the stone. The King...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded BouquetThe gaslight in the precinct office hissed, a thin, dying sound that seemed to mock the silence of the room, and Sergeant Elias Thorne sat with his left hand resting on the mahogany desk, the knuckles blackened and hard as river stones, a creeping petrification that had begun three months ago when his wife, Margaret, had died in the bed they had shared for twelve years. The Inspector, a man...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale BannerThe mist did not roll in; it stood, a thick, grey wall that smelled of iron and old blood, blocking the road to the keep. Thomas Bradshaw pulled the tattered cloth from his pack, the Pale Banner, and felt the cold seep through his gloves, biting into his flesh like a frozen brand. He was thirty years old, a scribe displaced by war and plague, and he had walked for three weeks to stand before...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale BridgeThe morning light in the room was the color of old brass, slanting through the single pane of glass that looked out onto the soot-stained brick of the alley, and I counted the hours by the way the dust motes drifted in the beam, settling on the workbench where the gears of the automaton lay scattered like the teeth of a dead animal. I had been awake for six hours, or perhaps seven; time had...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale MistRECEIPT NO. 402: DEBT ASSUMED. SIGNATURE: P. PHANURAT. The ink on the bail receipt was still wet, stapled through the corner of Pensri Phanurat’s driver’s license, the metal pin biting into the paper with a cold, metallic weight. He sat in the back of the taxi, the engine idling with a rough, arrhythmic cough that matched the tremor in his own hands. Outside, the first frost of the season had...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek