Chains Across Time

The Market

Our flesh, our lives, counted like coins beneath vaulted ceilings where light shattered into shards upon our skin. Reflections of us danced in mercury pools, distorted and impossible to hold. Every whisper of chains, every shadow that touched us, was a contract written in sorrow. We wore our pain in fractured mirrors, bending it back to show them what they could not truly own: our memory, our spirit.