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 Ghost"Your hand is shaking, Dolores." The voice belonged to the old man sitting across from me in the workshop loft, his fingers wrapped around a cup of cold coffee, the ceramic rim stained with the residue of years. I looked down at my left hand, the one that had been bound in bloody linen since the archive, and I saw the swelling beneath the strips, the way the knuckles jutted out like broken...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale MistChaiya Thammawong descended the twenty-three of the Tannery Steps, her boots striking the wet stone in a rhythm that matched the distant, discordant tuning of a band that had not yet played. The air in the lower district of Chiang Mai hung heavy with the scent of wet clay and the metallic tang of the river’s upstream silt, a physical weight that pressed against her lungs before she even...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful SagaGiuseppe Caruso asked the man at the gate what the smell was, and the man, a cousin with two claims on the same piece of land, only spat into the mud. The fog had stopped the boats for three days, turning the canal into a stagnant, dark mirror that reflected the laundry hanging overhead like a funeral pall. Giuseppe was thirty years old, a junior clerk from the Municipal Sanitation Office in...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale ShadowsI remember the weight of the brass surveyor’s compass in my pocket, a cold, dead thing against my thigh, as I stood before the Ashen Gate. It was not a wall of stone, not exactly, but a solidification of the air itself, a grey barrier that tasted of iron filings and old blood. I was thirty-two, and I had come to cross it to retrieve my father’s ledger, the only proof that his "madness" was a...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant ThresholdElara’s left hand was stone. She did not wake to the discovery; she woke to the weight of it, a cold, jagged mass pressing into the wool of her blanket, the knuckles fused into a single, unyielding ridge. The room was damp, the air thick with the smell of wet wool and the metallic tang of the curse that had settled over Ashworth Mill three nights prior. She tried to flex her fingers, a habit...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden CellarAct I The debt was three hundred lire, and the cellar was locked. Franca Barone stood in the courtyard, the smell of wet olive leaves and old stone filling her nose, knowing the buyer was already waiting inside. She had spent twenty years as a salt trader’s widow, her hands rough from hauling crates, her eyes fixed on the horizon where the fen country met the sky. Now the war levy had taken her...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful MirrorChapter One Fatemeh Parsa weighed forty-two years and a pension that had been raided by the state, standing in the center of the caravanserai’s main hall where the dry wind had cracked the clay plaster into a web of white scars. The feast for her brother’s retirement was a loud, heavy thing, a table groaning under the weight of flatbreads, dried limes, and copper trays of stew that smelled of...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded ChronicleWho was the thief, really? Ernestina Renteria stood in the office of forms, the dry wind cracking the clay outside until the plaster dusted her shoulders like ash. She was the trade union checker, forty years old, her hands trembling with a decay that bled ink from her cuticles. The room smelled of damp wool and old paper, a cold draught slicing through the coats of the men waiting in line. On...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded RuinChapter One Who keeps the map when the road is paved over? Waqar Malik asked the question not to the air, but to the fresh ink staining his thumb, a dark smear against the pale skin of a man who had spent thirty-four years reading the world in its oldest scripts. The Inquisitor’s guards had taken the library at dawn, citing heretical margins in the treatise on canal irrigation, leaving behind...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek