The Distant Cartograph
The glass did not shatter; it dissolved. It fell from the sky in a fine, glittering rain that turned the wet pavement of the London street into a mosaic of fractured light. Eleanor Whitmore stood beneath the awning of the closed bookshop, watching the shards cascade over the heads of the terrified crowd. They were not mere fragments of windowpane. They were pieces of a map, a vast and intricate...
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