The Distant Cartograph
The fever took your hand first. Then your voice. You are a boy. You are in the palace. The walls are high. The air is cold. You walk. Your feet do not bleed. They do not stop. The King sits on the throne. He is old. His eyes are dark. He looks at you. He does not speak. You look at him. You know what he wants. You have always known. "Stop," says the voice in your head. It is your father’s...
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