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27/11/1973
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The Room of MirrorsThe mirror in Dorian Gray-Thorne's bedroom was three hundred years old, imported from Venice by an ancestor who had spent a fortune on glass and silver and the belief that beauty could be bought if you had enough money and the right connections. Dorian looked at himself in the mirror every morning. Not vanity. Not insecurity. A practical necessity. Some days he looked in the glass and...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 0 Visualizações 0 AnteriorFaça o login para curtir, compartilhar e comentar!
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The Rusting Heavens(Southern Gothic Style) The Blackwood estate sat like a rotting tooth in the jaw of the Mississippi Delta. The paint was peeling in long, sickly strips, and the wrap-around porch groaned under the weight of a century of humidity and secrets. Elias lived in the attic, a man whose mind had become a map of a country that didn't exist. "The sky is rusting, Mama!" he would howl at the moon, his...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 1 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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The tide was wrong when the boat approached Blackwater.Isabella Crawford stood at the prow, her gloved hands gripping the wooden rail. The storm had been building for three days, ever since the letter arrived with its single sentence of instruction. Now the sky over the Hebrides was the colour of old bruise, and the sea between the mainland and Blackwater Isle rolled in heavy, dark swells that tasted of iron. The boatman said nothing. He never had....0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 1 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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The Duke of the HollowPART ONE: THE CONSULTANT The East India Company had rules about everything: about tea, about cotton, about the weights and measures used in Calcutta markets, about which European was allowed to speak to which Indian prince and under what conditions. These rules were printed in thick leather-bound volumes that sat on shelves in offices in London and Bombay and Calcutta, gathering dust and being...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 1 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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The Trash Anthology起势 The first thing Carlos noticed about the story was that it was written on the back of a pizza delivery receipt from Domino's, and the second thing was that it made more sense to him than anything he had read in school, which was not much. He was sitting on a milk crate behind Building 47 at the Passaic County Waste Transfer Station, eating a cold sandwich from a plastic bag, and the story...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 2 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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The Cosmic Farce (V-07)The Blackwood estate was a rotting monument to a grandeur that had died a century ago. Situated in the humid heart of Mississippi, the house leaned precariously to the left, its white paint peeling like dead skin. Inside, the Blackwood family gathered in the drawing room, sipping lukewarm tea and arguing about the "Proper Protocol for the End of Days." The "End" was not a mystery; it was a...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 4 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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The Saint of Saint Patrick'sThe church burned on a Tuesday in November, and James Callahan was three blocks away, counting twenty-dollar bills in the back room of O'Malley's Speakeasy, when he heard the bells. He did not hear them at first. The music from upstairs was too loud, the laughter too raucous, the gin too strong. But then one of the girls near the window went quiet, pressed her face against the curtain, and...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 3 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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The Patient from BelowACT I Dr. Henry Blackwood's clinic was on Harley Street, in a building that had been a townhouse before someone with money and no taste turned it into a medical practice. The waiting room smelled of carbolic acid and lavender—two smells that had been mixed together by someone who thought they complemented each other but in fact created an odor that was worse than either alone. Blackwood sat in...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 2 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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The Pressure at Sixty FathomsWilliam Hartley had been dead for eleven days. The fever that swept through Marazion had taken him, as it had taken seventeen others, and now his fourteen-year-old son stood in the lantern room of the Bell Rock Light with salt crusted on his cheeks and the great Fresnel lens turning behind him like a mechanical heart. The villagers had sent a man to check on the boy. Old Tom Hedges rowed out...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 1 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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The Dawn Watchman## Chapter I: The Signal The wind on Eilean Mor did not blow so much as it carved—scooping out channels through stone and peat and the salt-crusted bones of gulls, leaving behind only the shapes that could withstand it. Ewan MacAskill had spent seventeen years learning the difference between shapes that withstood and shapes that merely pretended to. The lighthouse stood at the northernmost...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 3 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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THE PATIENT FROM BELOWDr. Arthur Voss could not remember how he had arrived at the hospital. This was not, strictly speaking, true. He remembered driving through Vienna on a February evening in 1896, the gas lamps casting amber pools on the wet cobblestones, the carriages bouncing over puddles that reflected the windows of the cafés where men sat drinking brandy and talking about the future of the Balkans. He...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 3 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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The Victorian AbyssAct I: The Descent Evelyn Ashworth woke to the sound of the Earth grinding above her. She could not see it, of course. Nothing above the mantle layer was visible from her position. But she knew it was there, pressing down with a force she could quantify in megapascals but never in weight. Six thousand eight hundred kilometers of molten iron, nickel, silicate rock, and time separated her from...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 2 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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