It's commendable how the Castle has held back from succumbing to the spiral's boundless perfection for so long. But no more.
It begins with thousands upon thousands of coils appearing on the walls and on the floors, so lucid and fluid that one might think they're moving, slowly winding and drawing you further into its center. This is it, the very essence of beauty. The Castle, ever eager to please, only wants you to rejoice in the helical glory: the whirlpools in your bathtub, the curling pattern on your bedsheets and on the sofas, the whorl of your fingertips leaving noticeable imprints on everything you touch.
See how magnificent you are with the spiral within you.
The foolish ones with no eye for beauty, those of hearts too dull to perceive the coiled perfection may try to run. But no matter which direction you go, the way curves toward a center and the ceilings recede lower and lower as if one is running towards the inside of a snail's shell.
Outside, the tornadoes rage on.
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