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15/12/1998
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THE GOLDEN DELUSIONAct I — The Double Gaze Dr. Victor Blackwood was the youngest neurologist ever appointed at St. Thomas's Hospital, London. At twenty-nine, he possessed the kind of sharp, elegant features that made patients trust him immediately and colleagues resent him quietly. His office in the Mayfair district was immaculate—white marble, dark wood, shelves of medical texts in perfect alignment. Victor was...0 Commentarii 0 Distribuiri 0 Views 0 previzualizareVă rugăm să vă autentificați pentru a vă dori, partaja și comenta!
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The Architect of Survival(V-02: Jazz Age Idealism) The sky over the Sector was the color of a bruised plum, heavy with the static of a thousand dying transmitters. Julian Thorne stood atop the spire of the Central Hub, looking down at the fragmented ruins of what had once been a city. Below him, the survivors lived in "shards"—isolated pockets of humanity clinging to the wreckage of a forgotten technological age. They...0 Commentarii 0 Distribuiri 0 Views 0 previzualizare
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The Garden of Forgotten LettersRain fell on the leaden windows of the Beauregard townhouse like a thousand small fists. Clara sat at her mother's writing desk, the ribbon in her hands black with age, the letters beneath it yellowed and brittle as autumn leaves. She had been looking for a receipt for the gas bill and found this instead—tucked inside a copy of the Vulgate Bible, wrapped in a ribbon that had once been crimson...0 Commentarii 0 Distribuiri 1 Views 0 previzualizare
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The Seven JuliansIn the age before recording, when the first cities rose from the mud and the first kings claimed descent from gods, there lived a man in the kingdom of Oakhaven who could hear the last words of the dead. He was not a priest. He was not a king. He was a digger — a man who worked in the common graves behind the temple, where the poor were buried in shallow pits and the names were forgotten within...0 Commentarii 0 Distribuiri 0 Views 0 previzualizare
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What the Mantle RemembersI. The hole appeared on a Tuesday. Dr. Margie Callahan was reviewing seismic data when the junior technician called her to the observation deck. The New Mexico desert stretched flat and white-hot in every direction. In the center of the test site, a circle of ground the diameter of a manhole cover had begun to sink. "It started an hour after detonation," the technician said. "We thought it was...0 Commentarii 0 Distribuiri 0 Views 0 previzualizare
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The Mirror Play## Act I: The Patient (20%) The mirror arrived on a Tuesday in March, wrapped in brown paper and tied with twine. Dr. Edgar Thorne was forty years old, a psychoanalyst in practice in London for fifteen years, and he had seen everything that psychiatry had to offer: hysteria, melancholia, neurasthenia, the lingering effects of the war, the endless parade of human suffering that sat on his couch...0 Commentarii 0 Distribuiri 6 Views 0 previzualizare
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The Seed of EdenNew York in 1924 was a city of gold and ghosts. The air tasted of gin and exhaust, and the music of the jazz clubs drowned out the quiet desperation of a million souls. I, Julian, had once been the darling of the botanical world, until my obsession with the "Eden Project" cost me my tenure, my reputation, and my sanity. The Eden Project was not a garden, but a desperate gamble. I had discovered...0 Commentarii 0 Distribuiri 5 Views 0 previzualizare
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The Old EmbroideryThe key turned in the lock with a sound like a sigh—long, metallic, and reluctant, as if the lock itself did not wish to be opened after forty years of silence. Rosalind Thorne stepped into her great-aunt Evangeline's embroidery room and felt the dust settle around her like a curtain. The room was exactly as Evangeline had left it, except smaller. In Evangeline's time, the room had been a...0 Commentarii 0 Distribuiri 8 Views 0 previzualizare
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The rain hadn't stopped in forty days. Not that I was counting. When you live in a world where the rain falls like bullets and each drop could crack your skull, time becomes a luxury you can't afford.My name is Jack Malloy. I was a federal agent once. Before the Scorching, before the Great Forgetting, before everything became what it is now. I don't talk about that much. The whiskey helps, but only until it doesn't. The Ark had been sitting in the desert for thirty years. Thirty years of sand and sun and silence. I found it by accident—or maybe not accident. Maybe the desert wanted me to...0 Commentarii 0 Distribuiri 11 Views 0 previzualizare
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THE MIRROR IN THE BASEMENTACT I: THE WINDOWLESS ROOM Lord Alistair Finch-Worthingham inherited Blackwood Park on a Tuesday in November, which seemed appropriate: Tuesdays were the kind of days on which serious things happened—inheritances, deaths, the slow realization that one's life has been a performance for an audience that stopped watching years ago. The house was exactly as one might expect a country house named...0 Commentarii 0 Distribuiri 13 Views 0 previzualizare
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The Patient from BelowChapter I: The Braking The letter arrived on a Friday, which in Vienna is the day when everyone pretends the weekend is going to save them from things they should have dealt with on Monday. It was typed on government stationery, in a font that was designed to look friendly but achieved only the effect of a smile that does not reach the eyes. The letter informed me that the Weiss Institute for...0 Commentarii 0 Distribuiri 12 Views 0 previzualizare
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The Iron Crown of the FallenThe empire of Ostrava was a dying beast, a sprawling expanse of gothic spires and blackened iron that stretched across the frozen plains of the North. For three centuries, the Iron Crown had been passed from one conqueror to the next, a symbol of absolute power and absolute cruelty. Viktor was the last scion of the House of Valerius, a family that had once been the sword of the empire, but was...0 Commentarii 0 Distribuiri 10 Views 0 previzualizare
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