The Distant Cartograph
The rain has been falling on the slate roof of the Blackwood estate for three days, a relentless, rhythmic drumming that serves as the only metronome for your increasingly erratic thoughts. You sit in the library, a room that smells of damp wool and decaying paper, holding a single, folded piece of parchment in your trembling hands. It is not a map of the house, though it resembles one, drawn...
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