The Distant Joke
The map was wrong, or perhaps the world had simply shifted beneath the paper’s brittle skin, leaving Arthur Vane stranded in a silence so profound it felt less like an absence of sound and more like a physical weight pressing against his eardrums, a heavy wool blanket draped over his skull that muffled the wind, the creak of his own joints, and the distant, mournful call of the foxes that...
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