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 Wistful WitnessAct I The backstreets of Naples groaned under the weight of the colony’s daily labor, a dense thicket of laundry lines strung between tenements where the air hung heavy with wet wool and chemical scrubbers. It was the season of the gritters, when the streets were scraped clean before dawn, and the vibration of the machines traveled up through the soles of Vincenzo Costa’s boots, a constant,...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful AtlasMarch 14, 11:00 PM The ink was warm, which was the first thing that was wrong with it. I was tracing the coastline of the northern island, the one Father called the Threshold, and the black fluid bled through the back of the paper to the tablecloth, staining the white cotton with a bruise-like purple. I wiped my thumb on my trousers, but the smell lingered, thick and damp, like the air in the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden SuspectThe name is called out in the dark, a rough bark of sound that splits the silence of the study. "Thorne." You sit in the chair across from Sheriff Halloway, your hands folded in your lap, the wool of your constable’s tunic coarse against your palms. The room smells of dried lavender and old paper, the scent of a house that has kept its secrets for decades. Halloway does not look at you. He...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant GardenChapter One The mill town of Jessopvale woke to the smell of wet wool and diesel, a thick, grey exhalation that rolled off the fjord-like river and settled into the bones of the brickwork. It was 1954, and the air was thin with the promise of a thaw that had not yet broken the ice, leaving the docks floating in a precarious, silent drift. Mildred Sturgis stood on the edge of the pier, her taxi...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden QuestThe light before the hailstorm is green, a sickly shade that makes the white walls of the boarding house look like old teeth. Yolande Laraque knows this fact better than she knows the names of the saints, because for the last six months, that specific quality of light has been the only thing standing between her and the collapse of her mind. She is thirty years old, a woman who grinds knives...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden MirrorAct I The fog did not roll in so much as it settled, a heavy, wet wool drawn up from the black water of the Bay of Morlaix until the masts of the fishing fleet were nothing but ghostly ribs in the grey. Here in the coastal village of Ploumanac’h, the air tasted of brine and rotting kelp, a physical weight that pressed against the lungs and made the joints ache before the rain even began. I am...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant WoundAct I Luigi Rinaldi, the dye-house overseer of forty-two Stonecutter Alley, carried the weight of the bronze bell in his left hand, a cold, heavy thing that had not been rung in three years. The tide was high, pushing the salt water up through the cracks in the granary floor, and the wind howled through the gaps in the shuttered windows, making the air feel thin and sharp against his skin. He...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale MeridianChapter One Pascal Thibodeaux remembered the smell of the front room before he saw the dust, a sharp, metallic tang like old copper coins left in the rain. He stood in the doorway of the public library’s back archive, forty-two years old and wearing a suit that no longer fit his shoulders, holding a box of Julian’s papers. The department head, Mr. Alcindor, had called him in that morning, his...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded PhotographAct I Ha-jun Jang stood before the shattered glass of the office window, his left hand bleeding from the impact of a brick that had been thrown in anger by a man who believed the law was a living thing that could be beaten, while the Chief, a man who had risen through the ranks by selling out his own brothers, watched from the doorway with a face carved from stone, his silence a heavier weight...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek