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187 Publicações
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Female
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07/10/1977
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The Jazz Between the StarsThe Jazz Between the Stars The Cotton Club was packed on a Saturday night in October 1925. The air was thick with cigarette smoke and the smell of gin. People danced the Charleston in a frenzy of movement, their shoes slapping against the wooden floor, their laughter rising above the band. At the piano, Marcus Johnson played with his left hand while holding a glass of whiskey in his right. He...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 1 Visualizações 0 AnteriorFaça Login para curtir, compartilhar e comentar!
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Shadows of the Zenith(Style D: Film Noir) The office smelled of stale tobacco and regret. I sat behind a desk that had seen better decades, watching the ceiling fan chop the afternoon sun into jagged slices of light and shadow. My name is Elias Thorne, and I make a living finding things people want to stay lost. But three months ago, I found something I should have left alone: The Zenith List. It was a...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 2 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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The Star-Counter's Paradox(Variant V-06: New York Modernism) The apartment was a white cube in the center of Manhattan, stripped of everything that could be called 'decor'. There were no curtains, no rugs, only a single metal table and a chalkboard that spanned the entire north wall. Dr. Aris Thorne did not believe in the utility of knowledge. He believed in its absurdity. He spent his days teaching a class of three...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 1K Visualizações 0 Anterior
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The Gilded Cage of Silas ThorneSeptember 12th, 1893 I arrived at Silas Thorne's Kensington estate expecting a fortnight's visit and found, within the first hour, that departure was no longer a simple matter. Not because he prevented me — though I suspect he would have tried, gently, persistently, the way a man tries to persuade you to stay for tea when what he really wants is for you to stay forever — but because the house...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 3 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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The Veil Between UsThe fog had been thick since Tuesday, or perhaps it was Monday; Eleanor Vance had stopped counting the days that smelled of coal smoke and wet wool. From her room at the edge of Bloomsbury, she could hear the factory whistles down in the East End, their metallic shriek piercing through the low clouds like needles. She drew the curtain back with a hand that trembled slightly, not from the cold,...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 0 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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The Deep BlackThe Deep BlackThe rain hadn't stopped in three days. It never stopped in Los Angeles anymore—not the real rain, anyway. The kind that came from the sky and washed nothing clean. I was sitting in my office on Sunset, nursing a glass of bourbon that tasted like iodine and regret, when the phone rang.It was a woman's voice. Smooth as silk, sharp as a switchblade. "Mr. Morrison? I need you to find...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 3 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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The jazz of fading starsThe music was dying, and nobody wanted to admit it. Not in New York, where the music was everything. Not in Chicago, where the music was the only thing. And certainly not in Julian Ashford, who had spent the last five years composing jazz that made people dance because they were afraid of what would happen when the music stopped. It was 1925, and the city was drowning in its own prosperity....0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 5 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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The Golden RoadGrand Central Terminal in 1922 smelled of diesel and ambition. Ellis Hartley stood on the platform with a leather suitcase that contained three changes of clothes, a worn copy of Emerson's essays, and a letter of recommendation from a professor who felt sorry for him. He was twenty-one, from a town in Kansas called Wellington that had a population of 10,837 and a movie theater that showed the...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 7 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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The Luxury of Ending(V-05: Dirty Realism) The coffee at the diner was burnt, and the vinyl booth had a tear that leaked yellow foam. Ray sat there every morning at 6 AM, watching the rain smear the neon sign of the motel across the street. He worked at the Texaco station three blocks away, a job that consisted of pumping gas for people who didn't look at him and scrubbing oil off the concrete. June sat across from...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 5 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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The Flourishing DarkThe Flourishing Dark The fire came at 3:00 AM on a night in late October. Lally Beauregard was staying at her great-aunt's house in Oakhaven, twenty miles from Magnolia House—the great crumbling plantation that had been her family's for four generations and was currently worth less than the land it sat on. She woke to an orange glow on the horizon, the sky bruised purple and gold, and the smell...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 9 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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The_Last_HarvestThe Last HarvestThe crystal appeared over the Thames on a Tuesday in November, 1887. Admiral Charles Harrington of the Royal Navy watched it through the telescope of HMS Victory, floating in the black void above Earth like a splinter of glass dropped into the inkwell of space. The crystal was three meters long, spindle-shaped, and when he reached out his gloved hand toward it, it dissolved into...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 8 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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The House That WeepsLe Rêve NoirThe room was small — not the kind of small that architecture books describe as "intimate" or "cozy," but the kind of small that makes you feel your own body as an intrusion. Four walls, a window that opened onto a brick wall, a bed that doubled as a desk, a bathroom with a shower curtain that had seen better decades. The apartment was on the third floor of a building on Rue de...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 9 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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