The Distant Cartograph
The bell rang. You sat up. The stone floor was cold against your back. You were in the cellar. You had been in the cellar for three days. Or was it four? Time had no weight here. It was only a sequence of meals and sleep. You counted the cracks in the wall. Seven. You had counted them before. You counted them again. Seven. The door opened. Light spilled in. It was sharp. It was white. It hurt...
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