The Distant Cartograph
The rain did not fall so much as it pressed against the glass of the keep, a persistent, gray weight that seemed to drain the color from the world outside and seep into the stones of the hallway where I stood. My left hand, the one that had once held the sword with such steady, unshakeable precision, now trembled with a rhythmic, involuntary spasm, a ghostly dance of pain that radiated from the...
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