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 Faded AtticAct I Ramon Delgado remembered the sound of the cart before he saw the water. It squeaked in the one place where the axle rubbed the wood, a dry, wooden complaint that had marked the rhythm of his mornings for six years. He stood now in the dry, dusty air of the new state, looking back at the Andalusian estate that was already half-submerged in the rising spring flood. The insurance had lapsed...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden MythAct I The chisel bit into the limestone, a sound like a bone snapping, and I felt the vibration travel up my arm, settling deep in the marrow where the arthritis lived. My hands were shaking, not from the cold, which was a dry, biting thing that crept in through the gaps in the shuttered windows, but from the weight of the stone itself, a heavy, golden-hued block that seemed to pull at my...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden MythChapter One "Did you hear the hum?" Sagal Warsame did not look up from the ledger. The ink was bleeding, the edges of the paper curling like burnt leaves. He was forty-two, an archivist in a city that felt less like a place and more like a state of suspension, a gray void where the Second Sino-Japanese War seemed to have ended before it began. The building was old, its walls thick with the dust...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant ThresholdThe letter arrived on a Tuesday, sealed with black wax that crumbled like ash in Arthur Penhaligon’s fingers, the ink inside still wet despite the three days it had traveled from the dead of mind where Silas Vane was supposed to be resting. Arthur stood in the doorway of his study in Oakhaven, the soot of the coal furnaces settling into the creases of his waistcoat, and read the single line...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant ThresholdChapter One "Does it cost more to keep a man alive than a plant?" I asked the botanist, tapping my finger against the clay pot. The orchid inside hummed, a low vibration that rattled my teeth. It was a beautiful question, the kind that made men in robes look away. The botanist, a man named Herr Vogel, did not look at me. He looked at the plant. "It is an abomination," he said, his voice flat...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant JourneyChapter One Who keeps the count when the paper turns to ash? I asked myself this in the dark, before the fog lifted. I woke with my hands stained black to the wrist. The ink had bled into the skin, a permanent map of my labor. I was thirty-two years old. I worked as a scribe for the bronze-casting clan, behind the court where the river mist settled thick as wool. The room was cold. My breath...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant ClueThe letter lay on the steel table, its edges curling slightly from the damp air of the press room, a bureaucratic notice of final payment for services rendered to the estate of Arthur Vane. You signed it. The ink in your pen was black and dry, a stark contrast to the wet, glistening smear that had appeared on the manuscript’s final page only moments before. You were thirty years old, and you...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden MythThe ink was wet on the tip of the quill, and I was tracing the final digit of the sum for the wool shipment when the light in the cellar shifted, turning the stone walls from a pale grey to the deep, bruised purple of late afternoon. I am Elias, and I have lived in the damp stone cellar of Ashworth’s Mill for three years, ever since the marriage to Mara made the upper floor too expensive for a...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale CircusAct I Sota Ogawa remembered the shattering of the glass bird before he remembered the ice that had felled the elms, a memory that lived in the marrow of his nineteen-year-old bones, distinct from the cold that currently bit through the wool of his apprentice’s coat. He stood in the scullery of the harbor quarantine hut, the stone trough slick with grease and the remnants of whale oil, his hands...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek