Drifting through translucent cities drawn only in feeling, a cartographer sketches grief into the shapes of roads. Her maps cannot be folded...

Drifting through translucent cities drawn only in feeling, a cartographer sketches grief into the shapes of roads. Her maps cannot be folded, only wept upon. Landmarks are made of lost conversations, each glowing faintly in the fog. A compass of ache guides her hand. The sky above is layered with old ...