The Wistful Atlas
The invitation to the annual estate gala was printed on heavy, cream-colored cardstock, the edges deckled with a precision that cost more per sheet than Florence Hendricks made in a week, and she held it up to the light in the staff corridor, checking for the smudge of ink that would mark it as a draft, a mistake, a thing to be corrected before it reached the hands of the gentry. She was...
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