Shbeebia

In Shbeebia, there are no streets, only a single, expanding room. The inhabitants do not travel; they accumulate. Every thought ever thought by a citizen is written on a slip of paper and pinned to the wall, pushing the horizon further back, creating a city defined not by its geography but by its archive.

To enter Shbeebia is to agree to a singular governance. There are no competing factions, no chaotic marketplaces of noise. Everything is ordered by the whim of the Cartographer-King, who decided once that chaos was the enemy and simplicity the cure. The air is still, smelling faintly of dried glue and old ink.