The Distant Metropolis

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2026-08-23 15:59:10 -

The brass hinge of the field compass was cold against my thumb, slick with a grease that had hardened into a black crust over decades of neglect. I held it up to the grey light filtering through the kitchen window, watching the needle wobble, settle, and wobble again, refusing to find a true north that seemed to have drifted out of the world entirely. Outside, the wind was not blowing so much...

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