she had come from a place of ice, of shards and spikes, of endless cold that crawled into her skull.

but this-

this was a place of fire.

it was everywhere- it didn't touch her but she was surrounded, engulfed in whispers of heat.

this place was the end. a place of silence, a place of horrible light.

she couldn't remember what had brought her here.

but it must have been worse than death itself.

Welcome to my twisted world. I was brought here by my father before I could even walk, as he was by his father. I knew the ways and lays before I could articulate the reasons why.

I loved the scents, the musky dustiness, the bristles against my skin, the men, for they were nearly all men, the noise and the bustle. I knew, before I was even a scholar, the difference between an S twist and a Z twist. Shroud or hawser, I didn’t need to count. It was instinctive, in my bones, in my mind, I could tell you if it would hockel or if it was likely to be kinky, but it’s all gone now. The beautiful natural fibres, the sisal, hemp and Manila replaced by a mass produced synthetic product, made without love, respect or soul.

The ropewalks of Bridport are no more.