The Wistful Atlas
Act I "You are wasting your breath, Eoin." The words hung in the stale air of the Director’s office, sharp and final. I stood before the desk, my hands trembling not from anger but from the cold that seeped through the floorboards, a damp chill that had settled into my bones since I first stepped into the State Bureau of Historical Records. I had spent twenty years cataloging the dust of this...
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