The Wistful Atlas

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2026-08-20 10:09:12 -

The Wistful Atlas

The rain did not fall so much as it hung in the air, a thick, grey gauze that blurred the edges of the cobblestone squares and softened the sharp, iron-rimmed windows of the city into smudges of charcoal and bone, and we stood there in the center of the market, my hands trembling not from the cold which had seeped into the marrow of my bones with a persistence that felt almost affectionate, but...

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