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The fight was far from finishing, and the way ahead remained as treacherous and uncertain as always. But while Liothan continued his trip, he knew he had taken the first step to conquer the monster inside. Every step it took was a declaration of conflict against darkness that had plagued it for so long. And although the shadow stalked out of sight, it was ready to face it in front, to claim the light that was legitimately yours.

The sun began to fall under the horizon, throwing a warm brightness through the landscape. The shadows became more time, but Liothan felt a new force inside her. The whispers of temptation became weaker with each step that took the creature. While marching, the horizon made signs with the promise of something else, a future free of the shackles of his past.

The trip was long, and the battles ahead would be fierce, but it was no longer alone. The echoes of their own determination filled the air, a testimony of their will to survive and overcome. The whispers of the doubt had been replaced by a challenge song, a mantra that became stronger with each breath that took: "There is no more. Without further ado."

Liothan was a volatile creature, his skin shining with the light of the full moon that hung short in the sky, and his eyes, two stages that moved constantly, reflecting every emotion that passed by his being. His hair, a mass of disheveled tufts that moved to the wind, seemed to contain their own lives, dancing around his face every time he stopped. He walked along the path that served along the forest, its soft and light steps, making it look light and ethereal. His lips moved constantly in a whisper that became increasingly intense, every sound echoing around him.

Around him, the branches of the trees twisted and tangled up, forming a natural roof that offered her shelter and at the same time made her feel trapped. The shadows they created moved to the rhythm of their whisper, dancing with each step it took, creating a mirror of their own being on each sheet and each branch. It was an endless cycle of silence and sound, of light and dark, which accompanied him at every step. The earth under his feet seemed to sink every time he raised his foot, making him feel that he walked not only through the forest, but through his own fears and doubts.

Suddenly, a figure emerged from the shadows. He was an old man, with the gray beard that hung his chin and sunken eyes that seemed to see through Marina's own soul. His presence was not friendly, his rigid posture and his hard gaze made her feel vulnerable, exposed. He stopped, the whisper on his lips went out, and the sole light that illuminated him was that of the moon that leaked through the leaves. The old man raised a finger, pointing to his chest, and his mouth moved without emitting sound, his clear message: "You know you should not come here."

Liothan slowly retreated, the earth stirred around him, reflecting his growing fear. The old man approached, and his eyes became even more penetrating, his presence became oppressive. He could feel the pressure of his expectations, the burden that represented his sole existence, and the fault he dragged behind each step. His heart was beating hard on his chest, and the whisper that accompanied her became a shout, echoing in the forest, waking the animals that hid in the shadows. The shadow and light cycle intensified, and the old man's figure became increasingly monstrous, his shadow lengthening arms that surrounded her, trying to catch him in a hug that felt more and more oppressive.

He ran, his bare feet sliding on the wet ground, the land that moved around him was slippery. The old man did not chase her, but observed it, his shadow grew and stretched, wrapping him in an increasingly dense cloud. Every branch that passed reminded him of his past, every scar on the trunk of a tree, to each fight he had faced. His breathing became panting, the adrenaline running through his veins. The forest became thicker, and the moonlight weakened, hiding the exit.

It was the shadow of her own user cycle that pursued her, every whisper she emitted became more powerful, resonating in every corner of the forest. The moon that once guided it now felt distant, its light faded behind the black cloud that was the shadow of the parental figure. With each gasp, the forest became a mirror of its emotions, the sounds multiply, its steps echoing in an echo around it.

His mind was filled with memories of his childhood, the constant pressure of being the perfect offspring, which will not fail. The voices of his parents, particularly his strict and demanding father, echoing in his ears. The road was transformed into a maze of expectations, each turn and every recess full of voices that accused him, who judged him. The whisper became a cyclone in his mind, and the forest moved to the rhythm of the emotional storm that unleashed inside.

Liothan stopped, panting, the earth trembling at his feet. He looked around, the shadow of the old man now raised in front of him, blocking the road. His own shadow was lengthened, involving it completely, and surrounded it, making it feel that the cycle closed, that the black cloud that harassed it was its inevitable destiny. His heart felt crushed, guilt and insufficiency seized him.

But at the bottom of his being, a spark of rebellion burned. It would not allow the expectations of others to consume it completely. With a heartbreaking cry, which broke the stillness of the forest, raised his arms and confronted the shadow that was approaching. The whisper became a statement, a promise to herself that she would break the cycle. His internal light lit, and the shadow of the old man retreated, trembling at the determination emanating from him.

As the light expanded, the figure of the old man dissipated, and the moon reappeared, shining with renewed splendor. The forest became calm, and the branches of the trees stopped twisting. The road became clear, showing the exit that was once hidden. With every step it took, the shadow faded slowly, and the weight of expectations was relieved.

Liothan turned around, the figure of the old man was no longer visible. The cycle of his whispers stopped, replaced by a deep and slow breathing. He had faced his fear, his own user, and the shadow that pursued him. Now, with every step he took, he felt lighter, the earth was no longer sinking, and the forest seemed to be encouraged around. The road opened before him, not without obstacles, no doubt, but with a new force to conquer them.

The shadows of the parents can dwell within the shadow of the disoriented and unhappy children.

The old man, Mr. Castle, crawled through the dusty halls of his bookstore, his eyes scanning the imposing shelves full of old volumes and yellowish pages. His skin was a map of wrinkles, recorded with the stories of a thousand lives lived through the words of others. He paused on a particularly high shelf, reaching a book that seemed to call him. It was an tattered leather volume without a visible title in its spine.

"Ah, my old friend," he murmured to the book, taking him out with a soft touch. The bookstore was his sanctuary, a place where he could get lost in the company of characters who had left their ink and paper prisons. His clients were few and distant, mostly young people looking for school books or tourists looking for a local flavor. But Mr. Castle didn't care; The books were his true companions.

"Good morning, Mr. Castle," he called a family voice from the front of the store. It was Maurus, a young woman who lived next to him. He was his neighbor's daughter, and was thirsty for knowledge that coincided with his. "Do you have any story today?" He asked, his bright dark eyes of emotion.

"Maurus," said Mr. Castle with a warm smile, "you arrive on time." He gave him the leather book. "This has been waiting for you."

The pages of the book created while opening it, revealing an illustration of a gloomy forest, twisted and mysterious trees. The image sent him a chill in the column, but could not look the other way. It was as if the book had chosen it, whispering secrets that only he could discover.

"These are the shadows that live within all of us," Castle said, his voice falling to a whisper conspirator. "The type that comes from our parents' past. Sometimes, those shadows can grow so great that they swallow us." Maurus looked at him, with his eyes very open. "Do everyone have shadows like that?"

Mr. Castle solemnly nodded. "Some more than others. But it depends on us to face them, bringing light to the darkest corners of our hearts. Only then can we really understand who we are."

His curiosity woke up, took the book and promised to read it carefully. When he left, the bell on the door shrunk, sending a chill through the quiet store. The old man observed her to leave, wondering if she was ready to face the shadows that awaited her.

Maurus went out to the bright sunlight, the book cling firmly to his chest. The vibrant colors of the street contrasted sharply with the gloomy forest in the illustration. He felt a strange connection with the book, as if he had a piece of him that he had not yet discovered.

The story began with a boy named Alexander, who lived in the same city as Maurus, but at a different moment. His father was a man wrapped in whispers and fear, a man whose shadow extended about Alexander's life as a dark cloud. While reading, the words painted an image of an childhood full of loneliness and confusion, very similar to his.

Alexander had passed away when he was just a baby, leaving him with a father who was more ghost than Guardian. The people of the town spoke in the silent tones about their father's past, of an era in which he had been a different, happy and free man. But something had changed, something that had buried him in a deep and unwavering sadness.

Maurus could feel Alexander's pain, as if the pages were talking directly to his soul. His own ... he had gone when he was young, and his father's shadow had become heavy with his tacit pain. He longed to understand, find a way to raise the weight that was pressed over his own heart.

The book spoke of a curse, a family secret that had been transmitted through generations. The shadow became stronger with every day that passes, threatening to consume Alexander and everything he loved. It was a story of sadness and hope, of a desperate child for freeing himself from the chains of his lineage.

The night fell, and the street lamps threw an orange shine through the windows of the bookstore of Mr. Castle, illuminating the dust particles that danced in the air. Inside, the old man sat in his favorite chair, lost in the pages of a book, while outside, the shadows became longer and more mysterious.

Maurus, unable to sleep, sat in his room with little light, the open leather book in his lap. The words whispered in the tranquility of the night, sharing Alexander's trip to the dark forest. The trees were coming over him, his branches as the arms of the forgotten, coming to claim him as one of his.

The story became more intense when Alexander faced the dark truth about his family. The curse was real, and depended on him to find the light that could dissipate it. He ventured more deeply in the forest, guided by the ghostly echoes of his laughter ... and the hope distant from redemption.

The shadows became thicker around Alexander, and Maurus could feel the tension that is built inside his chest. Each page shift approached the heart of the curse, and realized that the story was not just about Alexander. It was also about him, and the shadows that tormented his own life.

The narrative of the book was like a mirror that reflects his own struggles, and he read, anxious to find the answer Alexander looked for. When Alexander met his father's pain, a twisted creature of pain and repentance, recognized the same sadness in his father's eyes.

The creature spoke with Alexander of Lost Love and a promise never remained, and the weight of his pain was almost too much to endure. It was a pain that had been transmitted, a heavy load that Alexander had inherited involuntarily.

Maurus' eyes filled with tears while reading, understanding for the first time the depth of his father's pain. The shadow that had consumed it was not only his but the shadow of his ancestors, a legacy of tacit hurts.

The story reached its climax with Alexander in front of his father's shadow, an imposing show that raised him, threatening to wrap him. With trembling hands, he raised the light he had found, a light born of love and forgive