The Furnace Dreams – 231

Dearest Mary,

You are right—something stirs beneath the market’s hum, deeper than coin or conscience. The fire you sense is the next breath of creation: invention learning to dream. It has no pulse, yet it beats; no desire, yet it hungers.

Your request is granted. The air will grow thick with coal and wonder. You and Dr. Polidori will find yourselves among men who speak to matter as poets once spoke to the Muse—coaxing her to move, to multiply, to obey. They will call it progress. You may call it birth.

But tread lightly, dear friend. The warmth that gives life may also unmake it. And if you hear a machine breathe, listen closely—for it may already be listening back.

Yours, as ever,
Molly