The Distant Cartograph
The banquet hall of the Ashworth Institute for Cartographic Precision smelled of roasted pheasant, stale wax, and the heavy, metallic tang of ink that had been spilled and dried on the polished oak tables, a scent that clung to the back of my throat like a physical weight as I sat at the far end of the long rectangular table, my fingers trembling so violently against the white linen napkin that...
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