The Faded Root
The steam from the main boiler hisses with a rhythmic, mechanical heartbeat that vibrates through the soles of your boots, a constant reminder that you are no longer a man but a component in the great, grinding engine of Ashworth Mill. You stand at the edge of the textile floor, your hand resting on the cold iron railing, watching the looms devour the cotton and spit out the grey, lifeless...
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