The Manor of Flatness
The fog in the valley of Blackwood never truly lifts; it only changes its shade of grey. I, Silas, am the last of my line, the sole inhabitant of a manor that breathes with the rhythm of a dying heart. For years, I have lived in the conviction that my world is a lie. I see the way the shadows stretch too far, the way the corridors of the manor seem to bend at angles that defy Euclid. I have...
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