The Wistful Atlas
The dust in the library did not settle so much as it hovered, a suspended galaxy of particulate matter that caught the dying light of the afternoon and held it there in a state of agonizing suspension, much like the breath held in the chest of Aldous Vane, who stood before the towering shelves of the ancestral home, his fingers trembling not from cold, but from the terrible, crushing weight of...
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