The Distant Cartograph
The ink was still wet on the vellum when the first drop fell. It struck the center of the map, a single, black bead that swelled and broke the surface tension of the parchment. I watched it spread, a dark flower blooming over the coastline of a place that did not exist, a place I had drawn from the memory of a fever dream. My name is Elias Thorne, and I am a cartographer of the impossible. Or,...
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