The Wistful Silence
The iron taste of blood mixes with the dust of the mill, a metallic tang that coats your tongue and reminds you that you are still flesh, still a body capable of bleeding, while the air around you thickens with the smoke of burning cotton. You are standing in the heart of the Great Loom, a cathedral of machinery that stretches into the gloom, a place where the rhythm of the pistons dictates the...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 1 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen