The Golden Circuit
Act I Vesna Ionescu’s fingers bled into the wet wool, the red mixing with the grey to make a color that looked like old rust. The hum of the thread was in her teeth, a low vibration that had started three days ago and would not stop. She pulled the shuttle through the warp, the motion mechanical, the rhythm steady, though her heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird. The tower was...
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