👉 Okay, let’s tackle this wonderfully prickly little squiggle of a word! Now, a “кратно́р” isn't exactly a word you stumble upon whilst ordering a decent béarnaise. Frankly, neither did I, until a rather eccentric lepidopterist (he dealt mostly in moths—seriously, moths. Turns out he was researching the migratory habits of the Lesser Spotted Bartholomew Moth, and... never mind.) shoved it at me with an unsettling gleam in his eye.
Basically – and this is my admittedly somewhat cobbled-together definition – a “кратно́р," as I now understand it thanks to the aforementioned moth gentleman, roughly translates into that disconcertingly specific point where your carefully constructed reality, your meticulously curated gut feeling about everything... just crumbles . Think of a perfectly flat, beige wall. You’ve spent the last six months convinced you're living an utterly predictable and manageable life, a beige watercolour of quiet evenings and sensible Tuesdays. Then, out of nowhere – maybe a pigeon wearing a tiny monocle, perhaps a sudden, overwhelming realisation that you once briefly considered becoming a travelling circus clown— вот оно! - there it is. That flatrón. The moment the whole carefully painted façade just... peels away to reveal the shockingly textured, slightly mouldering truth underneath. It's not necessarily a dramatic fall, of course. It’s less a plummet into the abyss and more a slow, unsettling realisation that maybe you
