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Female
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01/05/1977
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COYOTE IN THE BACK ALLEYAct I: The Thing in the Trash Sal DeMarco was seventy-four and had been alone for three years. Three years since his wife Rose died, three years since his son Mike called to say he was moving to New Jersey and wouldn't be coming back for a while, three years of eating canned soup and watching television and talking to the cat that had died last winter. He lived in a small house in Queens,...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 3 Visualizações 0 AnteriorFaça Login para curtir, compartilhar e comentar!
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The Nodes Between Charleston and the AbyssIn the network of the world, Charleston was a terminal node, a point at which information entered a system and, more often than not, never left. This was not a criticism of Charleston. It was a description. Charleston had been a terminal node for three hundred years, since the first plantation ledgers began recording the movement of goods and people and capital in one direction only: inward....0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 3 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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The Labyrinth of ErasureThe Labyrinth did not exist in space, but in the gaps between thoughts. It was a structure of shifting ivory corridors and floating staircases that led nowhere and everywhere. For Elias, the Labyrinth was the only place where his wife, Clara, still existed. Clara had been taken by the "Fade," a neurological plague that erased a person's identity in reverse—first the memories of the present,...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 2 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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The Logbook Within the LogbookThe first entry was dated June 3, 1875. Oliver Hartley had written it in his precise copperplate hand, the ink still dark after twelve years of salt air. William read it by the light of the kitchen lamp while the fog pressed against the windows and the pulse rose from the deep. June 3, 1875. The expedition returned from the trench. Dr. Pemberton insists the specimens are genuine. The admiral...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 3 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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The White Room of EchoesClara lived in a world of soft edges and white linen. The Saint Jude’s Sanitarium was a place of profound peace, where the only sounds were the distant chime of a bell and the rhythmic breathing of the orderlies. To the doctors, Clara was a "Case of Chronic Dissociation," a woman whose mind had fractured into a thousand shimmering pieces. But in the architecture of her mind, Clara was the...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 3 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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Dr. Edmund Ashworth held the brass magnifying lens to the gas lamp and stared at the final calculation scrawled across three pages of his notebook. The ink was smudged from his trembling hand, but theOutside the rotunda of the New Carthage Observatory, the coal smoke of the industrial city had turned the evening sky the colour of bruised iron. Through the great brass telescope, Edmund could see the patch of night sky between the constellation Lyra and the swan—where, over the past forty-three years, he had recorded the gradual dimming of approximately three hundred and seventeen stars. His...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 6 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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ACT IThe Beauregard plantation looked like a dying animal: magnificent once, now skeletal, its ribs of white columns protruding through peeling paint like bone through rotting flesh. Elias Thorne stood at the gate and felt something he hadn't felt since Boston, something that was almost sympathy. He had come south as a Union intelligence officer, armed with maps and coded messages and a conviction...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 4 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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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 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 7 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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The Last Cake ShopThe party was in a cellar beneath a brownstone on Long Island Avenue, and the champagne was warm, but Julian Sterling would not have noticed if he had been drinking. He was not drinking. He was standing in the corner of a room full of people wearing feathers and sequins, watching the dessert course being carried through on silver trays, and thinking that the cakes on those trays were the most...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 8 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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The Weight of Dust## Act I: The Outset Oakhaven was a town where the wind only blew in one direction: toward the graveyard. It was a place of rusted silos and grey skies, a relic of an industrial boom that had ended forty years ago, leaving behind a population of people who were as hollow as the factories they once worked in. Toby was nineteen, with a restless energy that felt like a foreign language in...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 7 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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The Gilded Altar## Act I: The Outset The New York of 1912 was a city of gold and grime, where the skyscrapers reached for a heaven that the people on the street had long since forgotten. Leo stood at the center of it all, not as a titan of industry, but as a ghost in the machine. He was a painter of the invisible, a man who saw the city not as a grid of streets, but as a pulsing network of longing and despair....0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 7 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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Neon ShadowsLos Angeles was a city of electric lies. Under the relentless glare of the neon signs, the truth was something that only existed in the shadows, and in the shadows, everything had a price. Victor Thorne had spent forty years building a kingdom of silence. As a retired titan of the city's underground trade, he knew where every body was buried and which judges were on his payroll. He lived in a...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 8 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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