The city dripped like a candle left burning in a cathedral, wax pooling in the gutters where Inspector Hannibal Lecter traced circles with his cane—each revolution a slipknot tightening around reality's throat. His pocket watch (stolen from the Mad Hatter during an unfortunate tea incident) ticked backward, counting down toward some obscene apocalypse of geometry.  At the psychiatric gala, Vellux Swan floated through the...

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