The Distant Cartograph
The train whistled a low, mournful note that seemed to vibrate in the marrow of my bones as it pulled away from the platform of Harrowgate, a small, soot-stained town that clung to the edge of the moors like a lichen that had forgotten how to grow, and I stood there with my hands clasped behind my back, watching the rear carriage shrink into the gray mist until it was nothing more than a smudge...
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