The Wistful Atlas
Act I In this city, the rain did not fall so much as it seeped, finding the hairline cracks in the plaster and the gaps in the thatch until the floor was a mirror of the sky. Gholam Musavi stood in the dim, opulent kitchen of the palace, his hands trembling as he prepared the nightly tonic for his ailing father, the King. The room smelled of wet straw and old copper, a scent that clung to the...
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