The Distant Journey
The air in the basement of the Whitmore & Sons Textile Mill was thick, a palpable substance that coated the lungs and settled into the marrow, tasting of wet wool and the metallic tang of old blood. You stood before the massive, churning loom, the rhythmic thumping of the shuttles a heartbeat that had replaced your own, and you watched the warp threads stretch taut, white and brittle as bones,...
0 Σχόλια 0 Μοιράστηκε 1 Views 0 Προεπισκόπηση