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148 Publicações
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Female
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19/07/1994
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The Planet-Eater's GardenThe land beneath the Hartfield plantation did not crack that night—it breathed. Silas knew this the way a man knows his own heartbeat, without needing to think about it. He had grown up on this land, or what remained of it, and he knew the rhythms of the earth beneath his feet better than he knew the lines of his own face. When the ground breathed, it was not an earthquake. It was not settling....0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 14 Visualizações 0 AnteriorFaça Login para curtir, compartilhar e comentar!
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The Sovereign of AshesThe world was no longer a collection of nations; it was a map of three Great Citadels, each a fortress of steel and glass separated by a wasteland of radioactive dust. Kael had been born into the 'Cullers,' the lowest caste of the third Citadel, tasked with cleaning the vents and scrubbing the blood from the execution chambers. He had been a tool of General Thorne, a man who believed that peace...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 10 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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The Watcher at Bly ManorThe train from Manchester to Yorkshire left Clara Whitmore shivering on the platform, her single trunk clutched to her chest like a shield. The Harrington estate waited beyond the fog-wreathed hedgerows — a silhouette of turrets and gables against a sky the colour of old iron. She was twenty-two, the youngest daughter of a Hampshire clergyman, and this was her first position away from home. The...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 11 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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The Black StrainDorothy Wayne walked into my office like she was walking onto a movie set, which she was, in a way. The rain was coming down hard on the windows of my building on Sunset Boulevard, and the blinds were casting stripes of light and shadow across the desk, across her coat, across the face she had spent ten years learning how to sell to an audience that no longer cared. "Help me with something,...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 12 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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The Crown of DustThe humid air of the Congo Basin felt like a wet blanket draped over Captain Alistair Finch's shoulders. He wiped the grime from his brass monocle, staring at the impenetrable wall of emerald green that lay before him. Behind him, his small contingent of porters and a disgraced botanist named Dr. Aristhone were hacking through the undergrowth with a desperation that bordered on madness. Finch...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 11 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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The Unlikely ImmuneThe grocery store owner died on a Monday. No one knew why. The doctor said heart attack. The coroner agreed. The store was closed on Tuesday. The shelves were empty by Wednesday. Bill Henderson heard about it at the bar. He drank a beer. He drank another. He went home. Another one died on Thursday. An old woman on Elm Street. She had been sick for months. Cancer, they said. But when she died,...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 10 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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The Neon Cicada(Japanese Modern Variation) Tokyo in the 1950s was a city of contradictions—a landscape of scorched earth and soaring steel, where the ghosts of the empire collided with the neon promises of the American dream. Kenji was a man of the middle ground, a translator who spent his days turning English technical manuals into Japanese and his nights translating the silence of his own heart into a...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 12 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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The Keeper of Blackwood HallI awoke to the smell of smoke and the taste of ash. The last thing I remembered was the fire—how it had started in the server room of my Mayfair office, how the sprinklers had failed, how I had stumbled through the flames clutching nothing but the black amber pendant my grandmother had given me on my thirtieth birthday. I had been worth four hundred million pounds as of Tuesday morning. By...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 14 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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The Architect of Memory(Biographical Fiction Variation) The archives of the Vatican are a labyrinth of silence and dust, where the history of the world is stored in vellum and ink. Father Thomas Moreland had spent forty years in these depths, a scholar of the forgotten, a man who believed that the truth was not found in the grand narratives of the Church, but in the margins of the manuscripts. Thomas was a man of...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 10 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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The Diner on Route 41Donna came in at six every morning. She punched the clock, put on her apron, and started refilling the sugar caddies. The diner opened at six-thirty, and by seven the first regulars would be in—Frank with his coffee black, Rita with her egg white omelet, the two guys from the plant who never spoke to each other but always sat at the same counter stools, three seats apart, like they were afraid...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 11 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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The Drum's DemandA Victorian Social Critique Tale When an innocent man faces execution, desperate measures are required to halt the machinery of death. The investigator must decode cryptic clues left by the condemned while racing against time, proving that justice delayed becomes justice denied. The investigation began on a morning when fog clung to the streets like a shroud. Inspector Jonathan Blackwell...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 14 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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The Observer at Five PointsI. The basement smelled like damp concrete and the cheap coffee Mrs. O'Brien made, which was not coffee at all but something brown and hot that she called coffee because it was easier than explaining. I was thirty years old, and I had been living in this basement for eight months. The apartment above the basement was where Mrs. O'Brien lived—with her cat, her radio, and her opinion that I was a...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 12 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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