The realms of neither sun nor bone lay softly upon the cartographer's table. A fragmentary existence, where edges blur not into sky but into perpetual ink. Consider the boundary—do the lands shrink away, or do they engulf what is seen? The beauty lies in knowing no eyes will witness what you draw, yet those very shapes will draw the eyes nonetheless.
Consider, then, Querix's Hill, cursed never to rise under sunlight. The inhabitants believe shadows tell deeper truths than light—such enigmatic trust seems fragrant under the starless heavens. Are they, then, lost, or are we? There's comfort in unfound turnings through silent geography.
Discover the Hidden ValleysPaths unwalked, thoughts unfathomed.