The Distant Cartograph
The ink in the ledger was thick and black, much like the stain spreading across the central oak beam of the nave. I, Brother Thomas, keeper of the Abbey’s structural integrity, recorded the date with a hand that trembled not from cold, but from the rattle in my chest. The Green Rot had advanced three inches in the last night, a growth rate that defied the slow logic of fungi and obeyed only the...
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