The Distant Cartograph
The rain had not stopped for three days, turning the cobblestones of the square into a slick, dark mirror that reflected the grey, weeping sky above. You stood at the edge of the market, your hands tucked deep into the pockets of your wool coat, watching the water pool in the gutters. Your left hand was different. It was not the pale, soft skin you had known in your youth, but a patchwork of...
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