The Wistful Atlas

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2026-08-21 10:43:42 -

The Wistful Atlas

The blood in my left hand was not mine, or at least, not all of it, and it pooled in the hollow of my palm like dark, heavy water, dripping onto the cobblestones of the alleyway where the air tasted of wet ash and the metallic tang of old iron. I stood there, breathing in shallow, jagged gasps, my uniform torn at the shoulder, the fabric stiff with sweat and the unknown fluid, while the figure...

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