The Wistful Atlas
The floor did not shake. It dissolved. One moment, Elias stood before the glass partition of his office. The next, the ground beneath his feet was gone. Not broken. Removed. He hung in a void of grey static, his dress shoes dangling by their laces, his tie snapping taut against his collar. The silence was absolute. It was a white silence. A sterile, hospital silence. He did not scream....
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