The Wistful Atlas
Elias Thorne held the parchment in his hands, the surface rough and fibrous under his thumb, feeling the faint, persistent warmth that radiated from the ink as it dried, a heat that had nothing to do with the cold October air seeping through the stone walls of Lord Malachi’s fortress. He had traveled for three weeks, his mule laden with cases of vellum and pigments, his body aching with the...
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