The Wistful Atlas
The brass nib of the fountain pen sat cold in Arthur Vane’s palm, a small, dead thing against the warmth of his skin, its tip pressed firmly into the center of the vellum map where the capital city of Nordhaven should have been a perfect, unbroken circle. It was November, 1912, and the air in the Imperial Survey office tasted of damp wool and the sharp, metallic tang of iron gall ink. Arthur...
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