She entered with hands stained in ink and absence. Parchment clung to her boots.16Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡDXjmbMJC23
She whispered before sitting:
“I mapped the whole world. Then I woke, and none of it was there.”
She held no maps now—only the callused memory of drawing them.
I served her a drink pressed from driftroot and pale moss. It steadies those who’ve lost direction… or who suspect direction is a lie.
She drank slowly, eyes never leaving the floorboards.
When she left, she pressed her hand to the wall and said:
“This place is on every map I never drew.”
I checked the grain later. A faint outline of her palm remains—lines like rivers, like roads to nowhere.
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