A Symphony of Divided Selves
The sound of the salon was a symphony of artificiality—the clink of glasses, the ripple of laughter, the hushed tones of political intrigue. But beneath the floorboards lay the silence of the laboratory, where Rene Duval discovered the true cost of the Count's grace. The room was an anatomical theater of the soul. Jars of formaldehyde preserved the remnants of discarded empathy, while the walls...
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