The Distant Cartograph
The map was not a document of truth but a wound in the parchment, a jagged tear that ran from the northern highlands down to the salted coasts, and it was this wound that consumed every waking hour of Sergeant Elias Thorne, who sat in the damp, stone-lined archives of the Royal Cartographic Society with his hands folded so tightly over the vellum that the knuckles turned the color of old bone....
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