The Wistful Atlas
The ink was moving again, Elias Thorne noticed, as he tried to steady the brass ruler against the vellum, the black line rising from the bottom of the page to form a coastline that had no name, a jagged, impossible shore that seemed to breathe against the grain of the paper. He had been working in the damp basement of the Royal Geographical Society for three days without leaving, eating only...
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