Lord of Crimson Madness
Lord of Crimson Madness:
In the Gray fog enveloping 1878 London, a young aristocrat awakens in a lavish bedchamber, a phantom ache throbbing in his neck as if an unseen blade had grazed it.
He is Elias Montagu, the Duke of Manchester—or so the servants insist, bowing as they prepare him for a pivotal session in the House of Lords.
Yet the throne belongs to King George V.
Grand cathedrals venerate deities bearing names devoid of meaning—Senaiy, Uire, Siny, Urey, Senry, Ueis—their scriptures clashing in silent contradiction, their idols gazing with empty stone eyes.
The moon looms low and blood-red above spires that pierce the sky too sharply, while Big Ben stands unnaturally elongated, its chimes echoing with a hollow dissonance.
Beneath the empire's veiled industry, vast mechanisms pulse in silence, unspoken and unseen.
Fragments of an impossible past seep into his mind: crumbling structures of a future age, machines fueled by unseen fire, a desperate scrawl reading "Everything ends up being a lie," and the unblinking stare of a colossal crimson eye.
As Elias navigates ballrooms filled with hollow smiles and corridors echoing with veiled whispers, the veil of reality thins.
Some sights are not meant to be beheld.
Some gazes are not meant to be returned.
In a realm woven from deception, clarity bears a title whispered only in fear.
The Duke of Madness.
