𝐒𝐚𝐝 𝐍𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐠𝐢𝐜 𝐕𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐧, 𝐏𝐢𝐚𝐧𝐨 | 𝐂𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥 𝐌𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐜 & 𝐒𝐧𝐨𝐰 | 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐋𝐨𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐓𝐰𝐨 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬 | 𝐃𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐀𝐜𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐦𝐢𝐚

[@Tenebrarum-Manuss]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐋𝐨𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐓𝐰𝐨 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬
The iron beast roared to life beneath his steady hands, steam billowing in ivory clouds against the pale winter sky. Snow fell in whispering flurries, coating the world in fragile silence. The locomotive, dark and gleaming, waited as if alive, its golden lamps casting pools of light onto the frosted tracks. Augustin, the machinist, stood at the helm, his calloused fingers brushing the polished brass of the controls as memories swirled like the steam outside.
The Locomotive of Two Hearts
He had driven this train for twenty years, its steel heart a rhythm that mirrored his own. But winter brought ghosts, and today they lingered heavier than the snow. The station ahead loomed like a fairytale castle, its spires dusted in white, but Augustin’s eyes saw only the past.
Once, there had been two machinists. He and his twin brother, Lucien. Born minutes apart, their lives had been stitched together as if by some divine thread. They had learned the craft of the rails from their father, a man whose hands smelled of oil and coal dust. Lucien had been the dreamer-always inventing, sketching, imagining trains that flew through the heavens or dove beneath the seas. Augustin had been the steady one, his focus grounding them both.
But then there was the winter of blood and betrayal.
Lucien had taken a job on the eastern line, a route notorious for its treacherous mountain passes and shadowy dealings. Augustin had begged him to reconsider, sensing danger in the cold winds that howled through their hometown. But Lucien, with his fiery spirit, had laughed it off. “We’re machinists, brother,” he had said. “We are the heartbeat of these engines. Fear does not ride these rails.”
The news had come like a dagger to the chest. Lucien’s train had derailed in the dead of night, but it wasn’t the frozen tracks or an errant snowdrift that had claimed him. The investigation revealed sabotage-a bitter rival seeking to control the eastern line had sent men to dismantle the rails. Lucien had fought them, they said, his body found near the locomotive, as if he had died protecting the very machine that defined his life.
That winter, Augustin had buried his brother beneath a sky heavy with snow. And though the years had softened the edges of his grief, they had not filled the void.
Now, as the train shuddered forward, its wheels grinding against the icy rails, Augustin felt Lucien’s presence in the hiss of steam, the rhythmic clank of the engine. This was their world, their shared language. Every turn of the wheel whispered stories of childhood games played in rail yards, of nights spent under starry skies dreaming of adventures yet to come.
The townspeople waved as the train passed, their faces blurred by the frost on the windows. Augustin tipped his hat in return, though his mind was far away. He imagined Lucien beside him, his laughter mingling with the roar of the engine. They had always planned to ride together, two halves of a whole steering the iron beast through snow-laden landscapes and golden summer fields. That dream, now a phantom, lingered like a breath on cold glass.
As the train pulled into the station, its brakes screeching softly against the snow-dusted tracks, Augustin stepped down from the cab. The air was sharp and clean, carrying the scent of pine and distant hearthfires. He looked up at the towering clock tower, its hands moving steadily forward, indifferent to the past.
“For you, brother,” he murmured, his voice swallowed by the winter wind. He reached into his pocket and withdrew a small metal charm-a miniature locomotive that Lucien had crafted years ago. Walking to the edge of the platform, he placed it gently on the snow, a token of remembrance.
The whistle blew, a mournful sound that echoed through the frosted hills. Augustin climbed back aboard, the fire in the engine roaring anew as the train began its journey once more. Snow swirled around the locomotive, a shroud of white that blurred the world into something dreamlike. The rails stretched ahead, endless and unbroken, a path carved through time.
And as Augustin guided the iron beast through the winter landscape, he felt a strange warmth in his chest, as if Lucien’s spirit rode with him, a silent companion on the journey. The train, their shared legacy, pressed onward, its steam rising like a ghostly banner into the cold, eternal sky.

[@Sweetbless435]

Huzurlu bir günün akşamı günbatımını izlerken dinlemek oldukça keyifli oluyor .from turkiye❤

[@anejahos]

And if I force myself, I can only write, no matter how much I want to, I start crying, the tears hurt me, my heart is already very heavy, I only want to live the memories, to feel the longing is more than a torment. Every breath is a knife, which cuts the life out of me, my eyes can no longer distinguish the Horizon, it's a terrible fog to cross... 🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤......... --------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------------------------- --------------------