The Distant Cartograph
The rain had not stopped for three days. It drummed against the leaded panes of the manor house with a persistent, hollow rhythm, a sound that seemed to seep into the very stones of the foundation. You stood in the center of the long gallery, your hands clasped tightly behind your back, feeling the dampness of the wool coat cling to your shoulders. The air smelled of wet earth, old varnish, and...
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