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 WoundChapter One The tin mines of Cornwall had long since ceased to bleed silver into the sea, leaving behind a landscape of moss-choked lava fields where the wind held a constant, physical stillness that stopped the mills and silenced the gulls. In the walled community of Oakhaven, where the air tasted perpetually of damp stone and decayed grain, Vernon Zorn moved through the lower archives with...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden SongAct I In the delta, the reeds died standing up, brittle as old bone, and the air smelled of salt and wet clay. Hassan Khalil sat in the parlor, which his mother had kept preserved out of spite, the wallpaper peeling in long, dry strips that curled like shed skin under the weight of the dust. He was a scribe by trade, though in this frontier county, law arrived late and often with a heavy hand,...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale CircusThe hand of the man in the corner trembled, not from cold, but from the sheer, vibrating weight of the silence that had settled over the tavern’s damp stone floor. Elias Thorne, fifty-two and smelling of dried sage and old sweat, did not look up from the cup of water he was wiping with a rag that had once been white. Across the table, Silas Vane, the magistrate whose coat was cut from wool so...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden MazeThe iron bars of the cell were cold against my shins, a chill that seeped through the leather of my greaves and settled deep in the marrow of my bones. I was forty years old, and in that time I had walked the corridors of the Order of the Golden Labyrinth until the stone had worn smooth beneath my feet, yet I had never known the texture of despair quite as it pressed against my chest in this...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful GridChapter One Antonio Lacson’s hands were stained with the rust of the mine shafts, a brown that worked deep into the whorls of his palms. He was twenty-eight, a match factory inspector in the Hawaiian islands, and his professional license had lapsed three weeks ago. The air in the field hospital smelled of antiseptic and wet wool, a sharp, chemical bite that coated the back of his throat. He sat...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded RiverThe boiler pressure was too high, and the gauge needle trembled against the red line like a finger pressing into a bruise. Elias Thorne did not look up from the firebox door, his shovel resting against the soot-blackened iron, while the sound of the ice cracking beneath the *Ironclad* echoed through the deck planks with a wet, skeletal snap that silenced the crew. He had been standing on the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale EchoChapter One She had not spoken to the mirror in three days, and the silence was a physical weight, heavier than the grain sacks in the tithe barn. Carmela Costa stood before the glass, her hands trembling as she touched the cold surface, knowing what waited for her on the other side of the reflection. She was thirty-four, her hair bound tight, her face lined by the heat that made noon a time of...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded ParadoxThe ledger page held three hundred and twelve entries, each one a death, each one a date, each one a breath that had stopped and never resumed. Dr. Elias Thorne sat in the vault of the Municipal Archives, the air thick with the smell of rotting vellum and the damp chill that seeped up from the cobblestones below. He counted them again, his finger tracing the ink, a dry, cracking sound in the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden RitualDong Sun remembered the weight of the brass tag long before he remembered the blood. It was a small, cold weight, but it had crushed the architecture of his life into a single, flat point of failure. He stood now in the rain, his uniform stripped, holding a ledger that no longer meant anything, watching the city take back its own. The clock in the wrong tower had been striking noon for three...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek