The Faded Masquerade

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2026-08-20 06:37:33 -

You are the weaver. Not a man. Not yet. But the hands are yours. The fingers are long. The nails are short. They smell of lye and wet wool. You sit in the dark. The loom is a beast. It breathes with the click of the heddles. You pull the lever. The shuttle flies. It is fast. It is slow. It is time. The village is grey. The mist clings to the eaves of the thatch. It clings to your skin. You are...

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