The Distant Cartograph
The air in the apothecary was thick with the scent of dried lavender and the damp, earthy rot of old paper, a smell that seemed to seep into your skin and linger there like a stain that no amount of scrubbing could ever wash away, forcing you to sit in the narrow wooden chair while the heavy oak door behind you clicked shut with a finality that echoed through the small, cluttered room, cutting...
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