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 WoundThe wine was already in the chalice, dark as blood, and I knew that if I poured it now, Silas would sleep through the ritual, but the High Priest’s hand hovered over the rim, waiting for my signal, and I could not move my fingers, could not lift the heavy clay vessel, because the cold in the archive was so deep it had settled into my marrow and made every joint ache with a dull, persistent...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden ScarAct I The fjord town of Nordhavn moved with the sluggish, grinding rhythm of a machine running out of fuel, the water below the canal walls black and still, holding the reflection of the gray sky in a perfect, motionless mirror. It was a place where the light did not break but hung, thick and yellow, turning the air into something one could chew, and in this suspended noon, Gro Lund stood in...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful PetalThe form was thin, translucent as onion skin, and the ink had bled slightly where Elias Thorne had pressed his thumb too hard. It was a request for pension verification, Form 88-B, standard issue for the Department of Unclaimed Recollections. He read it twice, the fluorescent light above his desk humming a low, sick note that vibrated in his teeth. Outside the window, the sky was a flat,...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden MirrorCould a man die by looking at his own face? Grigori Belov asked the question aloud, his voice swallowed by the rain-slicked alley where the suspect lay pinned beneath his boots, the bronze door-pivot of the precinct’s back entrance hanging loose on its chain, clattering a dry, metallic rhythm against the wet stone. Belov was forty-five, his coat soaked through to the skin, and he wanted only to...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant NightmareThe letter lay on the kitchen table, its seal broken, the paper soft and gray from being handled too many times by wet hands. You read it again, though you had read it six times before, each word a small stone dropped into the hollow of your chest. The committee had denied your appeal. Your name was struck from the registry of eligible refugees, a bureaucratic correction in red ink that cost...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded RootThe notice was three lines long, typed on cream-colored bond paper that smelled of dust and old ink. It sat on the desk in front of me, a small white rectangle against the dark wood grain. I did not touch it. I stared at the date, November four, the day I was to report to Colonel Vance for a disciplinary review. My hand rested on the ceramic mug, my father’s, the one I had carried in my pocket...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden Quest"You're bleeding, Mhairi." I looked down. My hand was red, the chisel slipped in the wet rock. "It is only a scratch, Callum. Hold the lamp steady." The wind off the loch was a physical weight, pressing against the canvas of our tent. I could smell the wet wool of my coat and the metallic tang of the ore. My shadow, cast by the kerosene flame, did not move when I shifted my weight. It stayed...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded BouquetOctober 14, 1924. The order lay on the table, the ink still wet and smelling of iron, a sharp bite in the air that preceded the sight of the blackened wood. It was a simple directive, signed by Colonel Halloway in that cramped, angular hand I have known for twenty years: *Secure the perimeter of Blackwood. Contain the anomaly. Report all findings to HQ by dawn.* I am Elias Thorne, Sergeant, and...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful GridI am writing this from the stone cottage on the hill, where the light comes in thin and hard, cutting through the dust that settles on the linoleum floor. It is the third day of the month, and the tax collector is due in two days, which means I have to sell the silver tonight or my mother will not eat. The magistrate, Don Carmine, has refused to process the deed for the land, claiming that my...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek