The silence of early winter mornings is a language most people forget to learn. It isn't just the absence of sound; it's the weight of the frost pressing down on the world, a heavy blanket of cold that muffles the heartbeat of the earth.
But some don't deserve this quiet. Those who scream their filth into the void, like the ones inhabiting the lower districts, they shouldn't even be allowed to breathe the same air as us creators. We are the architects of meaning; they are just the static in the radio of life. They are a blight that needs to be scrubbed away before the winter ends.