The Wistful Atlas
The ink was still wet on the ledger when Elias Thorne noticed that the letters of his own name had begun to bleed into the margins, spreading like bruised plum skin across the cold, unyielding surface of the paper, a viscous dark that seemed to pull the light from the room into its depths. He sat in the center of the cramped, dust-moted office of the Thorne & Sons Cartographic Supply, a...
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