Moonwood Mill doesn’t pretend. It’s rust, wood, moss, and teeth. It’s the kind of place where the past never left, and the future doesn’t ask questions.
We haven’t made changes yet — but we see it. The old factory, the trails through the trees, the way the fog rolls in like it knows something. When we do touch Moonwood Mill, it won’t be to clean it up. It’ll be to dig deeper. To let the overgrowth speak. To leave claw marks where they belong.
Some towns get forgotten. This one just hides better.