The Wistful Atlas
The air in the library tastes of dust and old ink. You are kneeling. Your hands are stained with graphite. You are mending a map. It is a map of the county. It is your work. It is your life. You hold the parchment tight. It is thin. It is fragile. One tear is all it takes. You have seen it before. You have seen the paper give way under the weight of a finger. You are careful. You are always...
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