The Wistful Skyline
The train did not stop at the station; it simply dissolved into the mist, leaving Margot standing on the platform with a suitcase that felt heavier than her body, a sensation that had become her second skin over the last three years of institutional confinement. She was not in London, nor in New York, nor in any place that appeared on the maps held by the clerks in the grey offices where her...
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