━━ Chapter 1 — Contrast ━━
Those crosses on the hilltops are still there, sharp silhouettes against the morning light. The hills stretch like ribs of the earth, crossed with thin roads that curve into the unknown.
I swear, looking at this part of The Continent feels like the Industrial Revolution passed it by on purpose, left it untouched. Modernism? Forget that. The buildings look like the sad sketches of a kid who's never learned how to draw a straight line. They mock you silently, a slap in the face. And you catch yourself staring, feeling ridiculous for expecting anything else. "Idiot," you whisper.
The sun warms your back as you wander past broken sidewalks. Somewhere, a dog barks in the distance. Not aggressive, just... barking.
You look up at the mansions, the castles — big, shiny, grotesque. And around them, the shacks, blackened by smoke, doors hanging loose, kids running barefoot across cracked pavement. Street vendors selling half-rotted fruit, the smell a mix of sweetness and rot. Beggars with the bare minimum, old women hunched against the wind, hair tangled.
The contrast hits you like a slap. Another reminder: life is ugly, chaotic, unavoidable. And yet, here you are.
