The Golden Circuit
October 12, 1893 The fever has returned with the autumn rains, a wet, rattling thing that settles in the hollows of my chest and steals the air from my lungs. I am writing this by the light of a tallow candle that sputters like a dying man’s last breath, the flame low and yellow, casting long, trembling shadows across the parchment before me. My name is Elias Thorne, and I am a cartographer,...
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