The Distant Cartograph
The coughing started before the light did. It was a wet, rattling sound that seemed to originate from the floorboards themselves, vibrating up through the soles of my bare feet. I sat up in the dark, my hands trembling so violently that the bedside lamp shattered when I reached for it. The glass clattered across the hardwood, a sharp, chaotic noise in the silent house. I was fifty-two years...
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