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 WhispersDo you remember the weight of a secret? Act I It was heavier than the salt crust under my boots, heavier than the sleet that slicked the black soil of the flats until the path became a trap of mud and ice. I was twelve, Suzanne Perrin, and I walked with my grandfather, whose cough had grown so deep it sounded like a wheel...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden HarborElias, you’re blocking the intake, move your bloody feet. The voice from the desk was flat, administrative, carrying the specific weight of a man who had spent forty years being ignored and had decided to stop trying. Elias Vane did not move. He stood in the doorway of the Port Authority’s sub-basement, the air thick with the smell of damp paper and brine, his hand gripping the brass handle of...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden VisitThe nib of your quill scratches against the vellum, a sound like a dry leaf crumbling under a boot, and you do not look up from the page of the Golden Codex. The candle flame, trapped in a glass holder that smells of rendered tallow and old dust, throws a long, wavering shadow across the table, stretching it until it looks like a limb reaching for something it cannot quite grasp. You are Elias...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded PortraitChapter One Lucien Descamps, forty-two, sat at the head of a table set for twelve in the dining room of the estate that was already being auctioned off in whispers. The air smelled of damp wool and the copper tang of the blood his sister, Elise, had coughed onto her handkerchief only an hour before. She was pale, her hands trembling around the porcelain cup, while the guests laughed and clinked...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded DustThe ledger in my hand weighed four pounds, a heavy, leather-bound thing that smelled of old tobacco and wet stone. I counted the hours on my wristwatch, the glass cracked near the twelve, and watched the minute hand crawl toward the end of my final shift. I was thirty-two years old, and I had served the constabulary of Blackwood for twelve years, six months, and three days. The pension was...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant CartographAct I Does a man owe his body to the ink? I asked the mirror in the outpost, the glass fogged by the breath of the canal. I am Kavita Gupta, thirty-two years old, a border patrol officer with nine years of service. My pension is the only thing standing between my mother and the street. The Cartograph had started three days ago, a fine black line tracing my forearm like a vein of coal. It moved...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden FarceMy fingers were already stained with the black, viscous ink of the Golden Farce collection when Director Minh arrived at the seed-library night desk. I was halfway through cataloging the index for tenure, the ration chit for water hours clutched in my left hand like a talisman, while my right hand hovered over the fragile, shattering paper. The smell hit me before the sight did: ozone and old...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful GridThe counting room of the Kavanagh merchant house smelled of damp camphor and old ink, a scent that clung to the throat like the memory of a bad omen. Deirdre Kavanagh, forty-two of Candlewick Row, stood before the fractured flagstone, her hammer raised in the grey light that filtered through the high, barred windows. The village elders, led by her uncle Colm, watched from the shadows, their...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden MythThe ledger showed a deficit of forty-two pounds, six shillings, and fourpence, a sum that felt heavier than the brass weights Elias Thorne had spent the morning calibrating. He sat in the back of the workshop on Fleet Street, the smell of whale oil and damp wool thick in the air, and listened to the master clock tick. It was a large mechanism, a grandfather clock he had built for his own use,...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek