The Distant Cartograph
The dream began not with light but with the heavy, suffocating weight of ink, a viscous black tide that rose around my ankles in the dusty archive of the Department of Cartographic Anomalies, a place that existed less as a building and more as a bureaucratic purgatory suspended between the known world and the fevered hallucinations of its staff, where the air always tasted of copper and old...
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