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 VisitChapter One Who would keep a mirror that eats? Gloria Bautista knew the answer was no one who valued their breath. The air in the manor’s main hall was heavy, a physical weight pressing against her ribs, smelling of damp rot and old incense. She stood before the golden mirror, her lungs burning with a cough that sounded like tearing cloth. The glass did not reflect her face; it reflected the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden SongI Marguerite Perrin, thirty-two, had spent the last decade digging wells in the salt-crusted earth of the coast, and she knew the weight of a man who would not break. The courtyard of the ancestral manor smelled of wet stone and old blood, a scent that clung to the wool of her guard’s tunic. She held the shattered golden bird in her left hand, the shards biting into her palm, while the right...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded RoadThe notice was pink. Not the pale, institutional pink of hospital intake forms, but a harsh, fluorescent shade that seemed to vibrate against the gray dust of the foyer floor. I held it up, the paper thin and brittle, the ink smudged where my thumb had pressed it too hard. *Final Notice of Default.* Three days. That was all the bank gave me. Three days to clear the debt, or the estate—my...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant ThresholdThe crystal decanters on the mahogany table caught the chandelier light, refracting it into fractured rainbows that danced across the white tablecloth like scattered diamonds. I watched Silas Vane’s hand slide the contract across the polished surface, the movement smooth and deliberate, a predator’s gesture stripped of any pretense of courtesy. "A simple formality, Elias," he said, his voice...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful SagaMarch 14, 1998 I held the glass vial in my palm, feeling its cold weight against the skin, the liquid inside perfectly still and clear as distilled water. It was a small thing, no larger than a thumb, yet it seemed to anchor the entire room, pulling my attention down into the quiet darkness of my kitchen. I woke before the alarm, my body stiff with the residue of the dream where Clara was...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful AtlasThe wind on the border did not blow; it pressed. It was a physical weight, a grey hand against the chest of the world, pushing the snow into the cracks of the stone wall that divided the two nations. Elias Thorne stood at his post, a grey figure in a coat of such heavy, dark wool that it seemed to drink the light around him. He was thirty-four years old, but his lungs told a different story, a...0 Comments 0 Shares 3 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale DanceThe ink dried black and cold on the page. Ljubomir Ionescu sat in the cramped cabin of the canal boat, the wood groaning beneath his knees as he hunched over his father’s final ledger. Outside, the storm had taken the power, plunging the missionary district into a dark that felt less like an absence of light and more like a physical weight pressing against the hull. He needed to finish the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful CampusSalvatore Lombardi knew the weight of a broken arm before he ever held one. Act I February, 1904. The canals ran high with the melt, the water black and oily against the mud. Salvatore stood at the edge of the tithe barn, his boots sinking into the silt, watching the apprentice, Giacomo, haul a sack of grain that had been paid for in credit three winters ago. The air tasted of coal smoke and...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale VerdictChapter One "You’ve missed the equinox, Edna," the Abbot said, his voice flat as the frozen harbor outside, "and the debt remains unpaid." The smell of damp wool and stale ink hung heavy in the scriptorium, a thick, suffocating layer that coated the back of her throat as she stared at the cracked porcelain bowl sitting on her desk, its hairline fractures spreading like veins of ice across the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek