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 CompassAct I Mud is a lie that binds. Jean-Baptiste Fruge, thirty-four, a border constable, wanted the pension. He wanted the mud to hold the smuggler, Elie, still. The left hand, a chronic fever burning without heat, throbbed against the rifle stock. It mirrored Elie’s pulse, a low-grade inflammation that had grown since the fire took the barn and the receipts. The sirocco had blown for three days,...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant CrownThe ridge does not take your life, it takes your name, and then it takes the face of the one you love. You are twelve years old, Elias, and you are standing at the edge of the Whispering Ridge, where the grass turns to stone and the air tastes of iron and old blood. Below you, in the valley of Oakhaven, the mist clings to the thatched roofs like a shroud, and you can see the light in your...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded BouquetNOTICE: REPAIR QUOTA 44-B. PARTS: NONE. CROP PLEDGE: DOUBLE. SIGNATURE: [REDACTED]. The ink was cold, colder than the water in the cistern, and it smelled of iron and rot, a scent that Youssef Haddad had come to associate with the inside of his own skull. He sat in the windowless cellar of the printing house, the air thick with the dust of ground stone and the dampness that seeped up through...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale TaleThe wool is humming again, Martha. Can you hear it? It’s a low note, right in the teeth. December 1st. The light comes in at a slant now, cutting the dust motes in the back room of the mill into sharp, golden shards that seem to hang suspended in the cold air. I am forty years old, and my hands are not what they were. The numbness in the fingertips of my left hand has spread to the knuckles, a...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful SkylineChapter One My hands were black with grease and the damp from the semaphore station’s rusted gears as I wiped them on a rag that had lost its color years ago. I was thirty-four, a municipal inspector in the old quarter of Hanoi, and I was trying to secure the demolition permit for the crumbling municipal archive to clear space for a new community center. The drizzle had been falling for three...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale ShadowsThe check is for three thousand, Mr. Thorne, and the deadline was yesterday." Elias did not look up from the canvas he was priming. The brush, a heavy sable with a wooden handle worn smooth by twenty years of use, moved in slow, deliberate arcs. The sound of the bristles dragging through the oil paint was a soft, wet whisper, the only voice in the Blackwood Chapel. It was a sound like tearing...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale VerdictThe letter lay on the mahogany table, its seal broken, the ink still wet with the dampness of the cellar where it had been hidden. It was a simple document, a deed of transfer, written in my father’s cramped, slanting hand, promising the estate of Oakhaven to my sister Elara. I held it up to the light of the chandelier, my fingers trembling not from the cold, but from the weight of the paper...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale Banner"The mortar is loose on the north face, and if the wind shifts before the thaw, the whole terrace slides into the delta." Folake Mohammed did not look up from the surveyor’s chain he was coiling, his fingers stiff with the cold that seeped through the soles of his boots. The gilded throne room of the Sunken Citadel was not a room at all, but a hollowed-out section of the ancient stone wall that...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale BannerThe whistle blew at six, a shrill, metallic scream that tore through the thin November air and set the teeth of every man on the platform jarring in their skulls. I stood there, my hands buried deep in the pockets of my wool coat, watching Silas board the train, his face bright with a confidence that felt like a lie, a mask he wore to hide the fact that he had already sold his labor to a rival...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek