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 TaleThe count was four hundred and twelve letters, a number that felt less like a statistic and more like a weight pressed against the base of Elara’s skull. She sat in the basement archive of St. Jude’s Asylum, the air thick with the scent of damp wool and decaying paper, her fingers tracing the brittle edges of the Director’s final correspondence. It was 1924, and the winter had set its teeth...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden OathThe fire had already taken the roof beam before you heard the first scream, the timber groaning like a dying animal as the heat pressed against your chest, a physical weight that made it hard to draw breath. You were standing in the hallway of Thorne Hall, your hand gripping the iron banister so tightly your knuckles turned white, watching the orange light pulse through the gaps in the door...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded ApartmentThe weight of the ruin was not in the fabric, but in the silence that followed its destruction. Ji-woo Choi remembered the sound of the scissors before the sight of the torn silk, a sharp, final snip that severed the thread connecting his livelihood to his pride. He stood in the shop, the air heavy with dry wool and fear, holding the ruined suit in his hands as if it were a dead bird. It had...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale DoorThe pen in my hand was cold, colder than the ledger it hovered over. It was a standard Ministry issue, black lacquered, but the tip felt wet, viscous, like it had just been pulled from a vein. I am Elias Thorne, fifty-four years old, a Senior Clerk in the Ministry of Records, and I cannot sign the ledger. My hands shake, a tremor that starts in the fingertips and travels up the wrist, a...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden OathAct I Could a building truly remember the weight of its own silence, or was that merely the static humming in the walls? Petr Dvorak stood in the server room of the retraining center, his breath fogging in the air that was cold as March despite the midsummer rain lashing against the high windows. He was forty-five, a senior archivist, and his hands, usually steady with the precision of a man...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful CrossroadsThe rain hammered the slate roof of the Ministry of Infrastructure, a relentless, heavy drumming that made Elias Thorne’s teeth ache. He stood in the courtyard, his boots squelching in the mud, holding a rolled-up blueprint that had gone soft and gray in the downpour. The stone walls of the Ministry bled. It was a slow, viscous oozing, black sap that seeped from the mortar joints and hardened...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful VoyageMy hand shook as I inked the date, the nib scratching a jagged line across the paper. I am Thomas Bradshaw, forty-five, a retired constable of the County Police, and I am writing this down before the frost takes the rest of it. The winter of 1912 has set in hard, and my memory is failing me in the specific, dangerous way of a man who has tried to bury a body. I want to clear my name before I...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant GardenAct I The city of Thang Long does not forgive arithmetic. You learn this early, in the way the fog settles into the joints of your knees before the sun rises, a damp weight that no amount of coffee or cheap tobacco can burn away. I am Vĩnh Thanh, a clerk in the Ministry of Internal Revenue, and I have spent fourteen years filing tax ledgers with the precision of a man who knows that a single...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful CrossroadsChapter One Xochitl Arellano had thirty-two years of stone dust in her lungs and a debt to the clan that could not be paid with words. She stood in the chapel, the cold biting through her coat, which was three sizes too large and faded to the color of old bone. The Breath of Stone was rising off the eastern wall, a localized wind that eroded mortar only when spoken to with doubt. Mateo was...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek