The Wistful Atlas
The iron gate groaned, a sound like a dying beast, as Elias pushed it open with the last of his strength. The rain had stopped, leaving the air thick with the scent of wet stone and rotting leaves. He was not a man who belonged in this place, a kingdom of shadows and silence that existed in the folds of his own exhaustion. He had crossed the border of his mind, fleeing the cold, sterile...
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