Author: Agnes Vestergaard | Date: 7 December
I heard the bells before I saw her. They ring behind my eyes now.
She stood in the grain silo, hair braided with ash. On the walls: markings like musical notation, but wrong. And underfoot: a soft carpet of braided human hair.
When I left, the bells followed me. Inside my bones. I mailed this journal to Thora. I don’t think I’ll make it home.