The Wistful Atlas

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2026-08-20 13:45:06 -

The Wistful Atlas

The frost had not yet fully taken hold of the valley, but it was creeping up the stone walls of the farmhouse like a slow, grey tide, settling into the cracks with a silence that felt heavier than the winter air. Margaret stood at the window, her breath fogging the glass, watching the bare branches of the old oak tree against the pale, indifferent sky. She did not shiver, though the house was...

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