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Summary
In Mirova, you meet a woman that reminds you of yourself.
Series
- Part 7 of Dirigibles
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Bookmark Notes:
quotes:
“I keep dreaming of their trains.”
“Why trains?”
“The ascetics worshiped them for their efficiency, their density, and their sheer, mind-numbing power. Inside that cathedral, there were no paintings of Franconegro. There were paintings of trains. Trains rendered so beautifully they appeared to thunder off the walls at full tilt.”
“Wow.” You croak.
“Yes, and I’ll tell you something else,” she leans forward conspiratorially, “they were painted in blood.” Her breath isn’t sweet, it"s human, now tainted with cigarette. You imagine the corporeal weight of these massive, bleeding paintings crowding into a cavernous cathedral. It leaves you breathless. She tilts her head like she’s aware she has this effect on people.“Yes,” Dora clicks to the next slide. Her machine sounds like an axe falling. “They are frescos. When the plaster was wet, the ascetics bled themselves to paint and used their hands.” She walks into the frame. The red washes over her. “You can see their touches everywhere. The plaster was indented with them.”
She takes you to a window and cranks it open. The gust of spring air feels like life. You lean out and gasp. She’s close next to you, watching you.
“I know someone that reacts to things like that,” she says above a whisper.
“A gift from La Revacholiere,” you open your mouth and let the breeze take your smoke towards the mountain.You sigh into her, holding her waist to yours. With your tongue, you map the red cathedral in her mouth and feel the indents others have left in the paint and plaster. You breathe dampness like a cave. With your eyes closed, you see the blood run.