The Distant Cartograph
The chandeliers of the Meridian Botanical Institute hung low, dripping crystal light onto the polished mahogany of the annual gala. Elias Thorne stood by the edge of the stage, his grip white-knuckled on the rim of his glass, watching the ferns in the center of the room. The *Aethelgard* specimens were supposed to be the highlight, a display of lush, emerald vitality that would prove the...
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