The Churning

In a decaying town beneath a sky thick with ash, I am sick again. The grey room is my only refuge, where fevered dreams and choking breaths cling to me. Outside, the ceaseless turning of a colossal metal disc fills the air with its relentless hum. The figures who smile haunt my thoughts, their silence as unsettling as the red eye of the spire that watches over us all. I cannot remember much of what came before, but I know one thing: as long as the disc turns, I will never escape this sickness.