The Wistful Silence

added blog Literature

2026-08-19 07:47:19 -

Mara dreamed of the loom. It stood in a room that was not a room. The walls breathed. The floor was made of cold, grey stone, but it felt soft under her feet, like packed earth after rain. The loom was old. Wood. Black. The threads were tangled. She reached for them. They bit. Waking, she smelled coal smoke. It was 1924. Pittsburgh. The air in the tenement was thick. It tasted of rust and damp...

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