────── ♱ ─緒 ️๋࣭ ⭑ ℐn the heart of the Victorian estate, the grandfather clock struck midnight, its heavy brass gears groaning with the weight of centuries. ܢ ̲͟ ̲͟ ̲͟ ̲͟ ̲͟ ̲͟ ̲͟ ̲͟ ̲͟ ̲͟ ♬ ℱor three hundred years, the iron gates have remained locked, choked by thorns that bloom only in the dead of winter. To the mortal villages below, the estate is a shadow on the ridge, a cautionary tale whispered to children before the lamps are extinguished. ƚhey speak of the §even shadows that pace the obsidian halls, of midnight waltzes played on an untuned piano, and of a hunger that time has failed to dull.... yet carried the stillness of those who have watched empires rise and fall.
