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 BannerChapter One "Total: 14 crowns. Status: Pending." Olga Cermak read the line on the slip of paper, the ink still wet and smelling of iron. The office was cold, the kind of damp that seeped into the bones and settled in the joints. She had waited two hours in a queue that snaked through the corridor, past the filing cabinets that hummed with the heat of their own friction. The treasurer, a man...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale MeridianThe letter lay on the desk, the ink still wet and smelling of iron. It was a notice of termination, signed by Dr. Aris Thorne, dated three days in the future. You looked at the date, then at the window, where the ivy on the west wall pressed its dark leaves against the glass. You had been an archivist at St. Jude’s Asylum for twelve years. You wanted your pension. You wanted to prove the ledger...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant GhostThorne. The word cut through the clatter of silverware in the mess hall of Fort Blackwood, sharp as a blade drawn from its sheath. Elias Thorne looked up from his plate of cold beef, the grease of the meat still clinging to his fingers, and met the eyes of Major Halloway. The Major did not smile. He held a glass of brandy, the amber liquid catching the light from the gas lamps, and his gaze was...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale LetterI. The light in the outpost was always the color of old dishwater, yellow and flat, pooling in the corners of the room where the dust settled thick on the linoleum. I wrote to Ling, my dead sister, on the back of a requisition form for new boots, the ink bleeding slightly into the cheap paper as if the cold had seeped into the pen itself. I wanted the transfer to the capital, the one promised...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful MirrorThe decree is state property, Fintan," the Steward said, his voice flat as the canal water outside. "You are a peasant with a superstition, not a claimant with a right." I stood in the white glare of the Court’s throne room, the air heavy with polished chrome and old dust. My ribs ached, a dull throb that matched the low, resonant hum vibrating in my teeth. It was the Amber Vial, sitting on the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant MetropolisThe vial in Elias Thorne’s breast pocket pulsed with a faint, rhythmic blue light, a cold throb against his ribs that matched the arrhythmia of his own failing heart. He stood at the edge of the village, the morning mist thick enough to swallow the road ahead, watching the last of the villagers trundle away on their mules, leaving him alone with his instruments and his arrogance. At fifty-two,...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden MasterThe cup is heavy, Baraka, and the gold inside will not let you keep it. "You have no right to speak of my brother’s sickness," Baraka Hussein said, the words cutting through the humid air of the imperial courier station, where the smell of wet wool and old paper hung thick and suffocating. He stood before the Sun King, a figure of terrifying stillness in the center of the court, his face...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful ShowChapter One Who else could have seen the crack in the jade before the blood did? I ask this not to the heavens, but to the dust of the riverbank where the reeds have swallowed the old rice terraces, and to the hum of the refrigerator in the empty shop where I once worked as an usherette, a job that paid enough to buy bread but not enough to buy silence. I am Thị Long, a scribe of the Imperial...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant NightmareAct I Dariush Farahani was twelve years old, and his hands weighed nothing, a fact that mattered more than the rent book I carried in my pocket, its pages swollen with the ink-stained sums of forty-seven of Marsh Hollow. The mill air was heavy with wet wool and the metallic taste of fear, a silence so heavy it pressed against my eardrums like deep water. I wanted the new loom, not for pride,...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek