The Wistful Saga
The ink on the Whispering Map had moved again. You noticed it first as a smudge near the northern border, a darkening that looked less like a stain and more like a bruise. You adjusted your spectacles, the brass rims cold against your cheeks, and leaned closer to the parchment. It was a trick of the light, you told yourself. The gas lamps in the Imperial Archive always flickered just before the...
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