The Distant Cartograph
The parchment is wet, not with rain, but with the slow, viscous bleed of your own failing eyes, a translucent film that distorts the jagged lines of the coast you are trying to redraw, the cartographic ink blurring into a brownish smear that looks less like geography and more like the necrotic tissue of a dying limb, for you are the map and the map is you, a singular, eroding entity that has...
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