Spinning the Dragon's Vapor

I stretched a scrap of parchment over curved driftwood ribs, pulling it taut until it strained like canvas over tent poles. With Lock and Barrel furiously cranking the rusted gears of a salvaged hand-centrifuge, a vial of sulfurous, acid-yellow tincture began to spin into a blurring vortex. I leaned over the whirling cylinder, using an iron needle to carve an ancient Icelandic dragon-stave directly into the spinning glass. Friction hissed against the stone table as centrifugal force drove the yellow fluid up the fluted neck, where it uncoiled into a fine, spiraling ribbon of chartreuse mist. Tension and form are merely kinetic boundaries waiting to be fractured.