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 Pale Mist"Stop it, Liv. You are weaving your own grave." The words hung in the damp air of the counting room, sharp as the bronze bell that sat silent on the shelf, its tongue removed years ago. I did not look up from the loom. My fingers moved with the mechanical precision of the night watch, checking the tension of the threads, knowing the cost of a single error. The fog was rising from the river...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful VoyageI I am writing this from the cold, where the snow presses against the glass like a living thing, and I tell you, Colonel, that I cannot stay. The Shimmer is here again, dancing in the corner of my vision, a pale, jagged tear in the air that only I can see. It has followed me from the ration office, where I stood in the endless queue for weeks, watching the lorry reverse forever in the yard, its...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale MistThe matchbook was cold in my palm, its red cover worn to a pale pink, the paper soft as skin. I held it up to the gaslight in the constabulary, the flame flickering against the glass, illuminating the soot on my fingers. Tomorrow, Magistrate Halloway would decide if I was a man or a thing, and I needed to know if the truth was still breathing. The mist was thick that evening, a pale, bruised...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale EchoChapter One "Is it true," Layla asked, her voice flat as a stone dropped into deep water, "that you have been hearing the house again?" Mahmoud Kassem did not look up from the divorce papers spread across the mahogany desk, the ink still wet, glistening under the single candle that burned low in its brass holder. He was thirty-two, though the lines around his eyes suggested a man who had lived...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant TempleChapter One “You can’t grind it down to powder, Young-ho. You’ll lose the integrity of the compound.” The words hung in the damp air of the surveyor’s office, heavy as the wet wool coats drying on the hooks. I looked at the jar in my hand, the glass thick and clouded with age, and then at the Grand Minister’s face, which was as pale and thin as the winter light filtering through the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded RootI remember the weight of the silence more than the cold. It was Sunday, the day the border seals, and I stood in the workshop loft above the hydroponics bay, the air heavy with wet earth and failing power. Lamyai Phromma, my name, was stamped in faded ink on the repair quota sheet, a list of debts I could not pay. I held the cracked jade amulet against my chest, its surface fused to my skin,...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded ApartmentChapter One Did I break it, or was it already broken? The question hung in the damp air of the storeroom, heavier than the fog rolling off the Po. I am Giovanni Zito, a man who once measured the strength of concrete in kilograms per square centimeter, now I measure my daughter’s dwindling years in the dry corners of a condemned estate. The walls of our apartment on the edge of the city weep, a...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded ShieldThorne. The name hit him like a slap across the wet windshield. Not a shout, but a crackle from the radio, the dispatcher’s voice thin and tinny in the cab. Elias Thorne, forty-two, Sergeant of the night shift, gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles turned the color of old bone. The truck groaned, tires screaming against the slick asphalt of the industrial district. Rain lashed the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden CircuitThe blade had already risen by the time the light changed, but Panagiotis Karagiannis remembered the mud first, and the way it sucked at his boots with the patience of a living thing. He stood in the queue for the execution, the airlock maintenance chief’s coat hanging off his shoulders, a garment so thin and patched it was more memory than fabric, handed down from a father who had never known...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek