The Distant Cartograph
The ink is drying too fast, Elias, you’re ruining the vellum. Thomas, the patron, stood in the doorway, his shadow falling long and sharp across the drafting table. He did not enter the room. He simply watched, his hands tucked into the pockets of his wool coat, while Elias’s hand trembled over the coastline of the northern isles. The studio was a suffocating box of dust and old paper, the air...
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