The Faded Attic

added blog Literature

2026-08-19 09:41:56 -

The Faded Attic

The fog rolled in thick as wool. It tasted of iron and old rain. I woke with the scent of ash on my tongue. The dream was sharp. A glass shattering. Not on the floor. In my hand. The shards were warm. They bit deep. I could not let go. The pain was a song. A low, humming chord. I opened my eyes. The ceiling was white. Stained. Like a bruise. This was my room. Above the mill. Above the silence....

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