The Distant Metropolis
The brass astrolabe sat upon the mahogany desk, its intricate rings tarnished by the soot of the coal fires that burned in the grate, yet it remained the singular point of order in the chaotic geometry of my study. I held it not as a scholar holds a text, but as a debtor holds a deed, a heavy, cold weight that anchored my spirit to the earth while my mind drifted into the etheric spaces between...
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