The Wistful Grid

added blog Literature

2026-08-20 16:00:57 -

The Wistful Grid

The loom clicked. A dry, wooden sound. Like a knuckle cracking. I stopped. My hand hovered over the shuttle. The room was cold. Smoke curled from the grate. It was thin. Pale. Almost gone. I looked at my hands. They were red. Swollen. The skin peeled at the knuckles. I pulled my sleeve down. It was tight. It pulled at my wrist. I needed to cut it. I had the shears. They were on the table....

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