The Distant Cartograph
The rain against the windowpane did not sound like water anymore, but like the static of a dying radio, a white noise that filled the hollows of the house where silence used to live. I sat in the library, the leather of the chair creaking under my weight, and watched the ink bleed from the edges of the map spread across the oak table. It was a large map, a cartography of the British Isles from...
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