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 SummerThe coin was warm in Thomas Vane’s palm, its edges worn smooth by twenty years of his father’s thumbs. He sat at the cluttered desk in the Mint’s sorting room, the air thick with the metallic tang of molten silver and the low, constant hum of the stamping presses. Outside, the London fog pressed against the high windows, blurring the gas lamps into smears of yellow light. Thomas was twenty...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded ChronicleThe ledger entry reads: Item 402, Iron Keep, Winter Solstice Feast, Attendance Verified. Vera Kral stood in the center of the Great Hall, the warmth of the gaslight pressing against her temples like a hot cloth. She was fifty-two years old, a senior border warden, and her knees ached with the damp cold that seeped up from the stone floor. The Hall Master, a man named Boruvka, sat at the head of...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden HarborThe ink on the page weighed three ounces, heavy enough to drag the parchment down the slope of the desk. You counted the hours since your last meal: four. You weighed the solvent in the glass beaker, watching the liquid tremble as you poured it, drop by precise drop, onto the script. The monastery of St. Jude’s did not look like a building anymore; it looked like a throat, the corridors...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant JokeChapter One Refugio Domínguez remembered the weight of the ladder before the cold of the cellar, a specific, jagged burden that had defined his existence in the valley market town for three years. He was thirty-two, a scholar of the Order of the Silent Leaf, though in this sixteenth-century Ottoman-tinged corner of Oaxaca, that title meant little more than a man who could read the cracks in an...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful SagaThe pressure gauge on the main intake valve read four hundred and twelve pounds per square inch, a number that sat in Elias Thorne’s mind with the weight of a stone, counting down the seconds until the fiscal year ended and his proposal for his father’s advisory position was filed for the final time. The air in the control room smelled of ozone and stale coffee, a metallic tang that coated the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant ThresholdI You remember the weight of the clay, how it yields under the thumb but refuses the nail, a tension that holds the form together only as long as the kiln does not crack it. Veronica Fuentes, thirty-two years old and master ceramicist of the Dome’s lower tiers, stands before the Imperial Seal, her fingers trembling not from fear but from the precise, technical horror of a hairline fracture she...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden MazeThe wrench in your hand is cold, the steel biting into the calluses of your palm as you tighten the bolt on the pressure valve. You are Elias Thorne, forty-two, a structural engineer who has spent the last six years buried in the subterranean research facility of Halloway Dynamics, a debt-ridden man whose life is measured in unpaid invoices and the slow, creeping decay of his own body. The...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded ChronicleThe left hand of Juliette Sabatier, the miller’s daughter, was already cracking at the knuckles when the frost touched the stubble of the Vael valley. It was not a break of bone, but of substance, as if the flesh had become a thin, brittle glaze that flaked away into the damp earth with every grip she made on the sickle. She stood in the field, the heat of the noon sun pressing down on the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant SummerChapter One Dolores Talamantes, a thirty-four-year-old head nurse at St. Jude’s, wanted to secure her permanent tenure by the end of the month, and the only thing standing in her way was the new dietary protocol that mandated a synthetic nutrient paste which the patients rejected with a visceral, physical horror. The paste was gray, smooth, and cold, and when it touched the tongue, it did not...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek