The Wistful Grid
The ledger was open. The ink was dry. Silas looked at the page. The numbers did not move. He was the King’s Weaver. The title was old. The work was new. The court was a hall of mirrors. They watched him. They did not speak. Silas picked up the thread. It was red. It was thick. It was heavy. He wove. The loom clicked. The shuttle flew. Left. Right. Left. Right. The fabric grew. It was not cloth....
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