The Compulsions of Isolde Crane
When Isolde Crane received the raven’s feather in 1993, she saw that everything — every stone, every doorknob, every wall — was keeping a ledger of every touch it had ever known. Once she knew this, Isolde became compelled to trace the history of everything she encountered.
She would run her fingertips along lampposts, feeling for the faint impressions of past hands. She would linger by closed doors, palm pressed against the wood, searching for the emotional residue of those who’d once stood there.
Her compulsions have never faded. She continues to walk the streets of Somewhereville at night, fingertips grazing stone walls, iron fences, mailboxes — piecing together an impossible, tactile archive of the town’s secret history.
Image imagined In MidJourney AI and finished with Topaz Studio and Lightroom Classic.
The Compulsions of Isolde Crane
When Isolde Crane received the raven’s feather in 1993, she saw that everything — every stone, every doorknob, every wall — was keeping a ledger of every touch it had ever known. Once she knew this, Isolde became compelled to trace the history of everything she encountered.
She would run her fingertips along lampposts, feeling for the faint impressions of past hands. She would linger by closed doors, palm pressed against the wood, searching for the emotional residue of those who’d once stood there.
Her compulsions have never faded. She continues to walk the streets of Somewhereville at night, fingertips grazing stone walls, iron fences, mailboxes — piecing together an impossible, tactile archive of the town’s secret history.
Image imagined In MidJourney AI and finished with Topaz Studio and Lightroom Classic.