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 ClueChapter One "Put the pen down, Rosario. You’re bleeding on the page." I looked at the ink spreading through the fiber, a dark stain that looked like a bruise. It was the fourth of March, 1912, and the wind off the escarpment was stripping the leaves from the windmills, a sound like tearing canvas. I was forty years old, and my hands shook. The bone comb sat on the desk, teeth missing, a jagged...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful MirrorDid you ever wonder why the walls bleed? I woke with ash in my throat, the uniform gone, just grey flakes on the linoleum. It was the third time this week. I checked the clock. 4:00 AM. The frost had come early, biting through the window frame of my room on forty-seven of the Bellfounders' Walk. I needed six more days to clear my mother’s medical debt, but the camp’s reality was fraying. The...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant PromiseI The old quarters of Istanbul, in this age of returning ice, did not sleep so much as they held their breath, the terraced houses leaning into the grey that had settled in October and refused to lift. The market squares were already empty, the vendors having folded their stalls against the frost, leaving only the arithmetic of the day’s losses hanging in the cold air, a low, rhythmic counting...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful VoyageChapter One Leszek Krawczyk remembered the silence first, a heavy, wet thing that pressed against the inside of his skull before the cold did. He was forty-two, though the damp of the cellar had aged him into something brittle, a man made of dried peat and rusted wire. The clock on the wall, a cheap thing with a cracked face, ran six minutes fast. He had kept it that way for thirty years, a...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale AltarElara, come out, the magistrate’s voice boomed from the street, a sound that seemed to shake the very plaster of the cellar walls where I huddled with my mortar and pestle, the stone cold against my palms as I ground dried willow bark into a fine, grey powder. The heavy oak door above us groaned in its frame, the hinges screaming a protest against the brute force of the men hammering at the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant LegendThe grain sacks were already split open, the white dust of rice clouding the air in the dim, gaslit interior of the communal granary. Yoshiko Watanabe wiped the grit from her brow with a forearm that smelled of sawdust and old rain, her hands trembling not from fear but from the sheer, physical exhaustion of holding the door against the wind. She was thirty-four, a constable in a remote hill...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale CircusAct I The causeway at Yuzhou drowned twice a day, swallowing the lower docks in a grey swell that smelled of rotting kelp and old iron, while the merchants on the upper quay haggled over crates of contraband silk with the frantic energy of men who knew the strike vote was tomorrow. Fang Hu stood at the edge of the water, his hands wrapped around a leather satchel that held his wife’s last hope,...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded AlibiChapter One "You cannot sell what is not there, Hafsa." Karim’s voice was dry, scraping against the silence of the room. He stood by the window, his back to her, watching the fog swallow the port. The mist was a physical weight, pressing against the glass, erasing the line where the water met the sky. Hafsa sat at the table, her hands resting on the rolled parchment of the cottage’s plans. She...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant GhostChapter One The ward had been gentrified for three years, a process that moved through the streets like a slow fever, stripping the old brick facades and replacing them with glass that reflected the grey sky back at itself. The mail boat gave its two blasts at dawn, a sound that cut through the wet air, signaling the arrival of goods and the inevitable departure of the old. Heide Krueger stood...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek