The Distant Cartograph
The frost on the windowpane has formed a pattern that resembles a topographic map of a coastline you have never visited. You trace the jagged edges with your fingertip, feeling the cold bite into the skin, a sharp, physical anchor to the room. Outside, the city of London sleeps under a blanket of low-hanging mist, the streetlights bleeding a bruised amber through the gray. You are a...
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