The Wistful Atlas
The ink did not dry on the parchment, but it did not fade. This was the first anomaly Elias noted, a detail that sat in the periphery of his vision like a splinter in the mind. He sat in the center of the circular room, the walls lined with shelves that held not books, but folded maps of places that no longer existed. The air was still, thick with the scent of old paper and the ozone tang of a...
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