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 Distant JourneyThorne. You’re late for the watch, Elias Thorne. The voice belonged to Silas, though he did not shout; he merely let the name hang in the damp air of the square, heavy as a wet wool coat. I stood by the well, the water black and still in the morning’s gray light, and felt the cold spot on my left palm again, that familiar, biting chill that had no name. I was forty-two, and my knees ached with...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful SilenceAct I The port of Vael churned with the grey sludge of the tide, a place where the smell of rotting kelp mixed with the sharp, metallic tang of fresh blood from the whale factories, and the air itself felt heavy with the weight of unwritten debts. Werner Fink stood at the edge of the quay, his boots caked in the same black mud that clung to the hulls of the whaling vessels, watching the cranes...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful AshesDo you remember what it was like to be whole? Act I The fog rolled in from the delta before the sun had fully cleared the tree line, a thick, grey curtain that tasted of wet ash and old paper. Amparo Zepeda stood at the edge of the willow grove, her boots sinking into the mud that was rapidly turning to powder, and watched the last of the leaves curl and blacken. She was forty-two, a botanist...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale DoorFernando Solórzano’s hands were already deep in the muck, pulling the tangled roots of dead reeds from the river delta’s edge, the wet earth slicking his palms as he hauled them onto the bank where the heat shimmered off the black mud like a physical weight pressing down on his shoulders. He was thirty-two years old, a cargo ship’s cook who had spent his life measuring out salt and oil in...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant MetropolisAct I The humidity in the longhouse swells the doorframes until the wood groans against the lintels, a sound like a man clearing his throat in the dark. I am Morag Strachan, and I am thirty-two years old, standing in the drafty hall of my ancestral home, desperate to secure the final deed of sale to the city council before the winter frost sets in. The air tastes of wet stone and old iron. My...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded RoadThe air in the housing estate tasted of wet concrete and old debt. Kojo Lawan woke with the taste of jade in his mouth, a cold, hard pulse against his tongue that matched the frantic beat of his own heart. He was thirty-two, and the Guild Master, a man who had once taught him to read the ledgers, now refused to clear his father’s name. The technicality was a clause buried in a contract signed...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful CampusChapter One Fritz Soileau stood in the center of the gas works office, the linoleum cold through his boots, and watched the man who owned the island’s history point a finger at his chest. The room was a box of dust and stale tobacco, the wallpaper peeling in long strips like dead skin, and the only sound was the low, rhythmic thrum of the gas mains running beneath the floorboards, a vibration...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded FrontierAct I The caravanserai smelled of damp wool and the sharp, metallic tang of the river that had turned to brine by the month’s end, a physical fact that settled in the lungs before any thought could form. Hossein Kian stood near the heavy oak door, his fingers tracing the grain of the frame, watching the town’s elite swirl around the long tables like moths drawn to a cold flame. He was a...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful SkylineThe ink on the ledger page had begun to smell of wet earth and rotting lilies, a scent that had no business existing in the dry, dust-choked air of the Imperial Archive. You counted the hours by the angle of the afternoon light, watching it slice across the mahogany desk in a blade of amber, illuminating the dust motes that danced in the stagnant air like tiny, suspended ghosts. You were...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek