Crimson Threads
## Crimson Threads The air tasted of salt and dust, a perpetual film on Anya’s tongue. Sweat beaded on her forehead as she wrestled the loom, its wooden frame groaning under the strain of vibrant silk threads. Around her, the…
tapestry
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The Weaver’s Dust
## The Weaver’s Dust The wind tasted of iron and regret. Elara pressed a hand to her throat, the gritty film clinging stubbornly. Another day bleeding through the village of Briarwood. Thirty-two days since the miasma first rolled in, a…