The Distant Nightmare
The loom stopped. It did not break. It simply ceased to be. The threads hung in the air, trembling like spiderwebs caught in a sudden wind. Elara stared at them. They were gone. The wood was bare. She stood in the cold. The house was silent. Not empty. Silent. There is a difference. Empty holds space for noise. Silent holds space for ghosts. Elara touched the air where the silk had been. It was...
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