The Wistful Atlas
The map was not a map of land, but a diagram of veins, a sprawling, intricate web of red and black ink that spread across the scarred surface of your desk like a hemorrhage that refused to clot. You sat in the dim, amber glow of the gaslight, the flickering flame casting long, trembling shadows that danced against the peeling wallpaper of your office in the old industrial district. The air was...
0 Comments 0 Shares 5 Views 0 Reviews