The Wistful Grid

added blog Literature

2026-08-17 22:30:10 -

The Wistful Grid

The candle flickered. It died. Darkness swallowed the room. Not black. Thick. Breathing. I sat in the chair. My hands were cold. They were not my hands. They were hers. Or perhaps mine had become hers. The distinction had blurred. Years of stitching. Years of silence. The tapestry loomed before me. It covered the wall. It covered the window. It covered the door. It was alive. Not with threads....

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