In a dimly lit library owned by a reclusive magnate, a bibliophile named Elias unearthed a dusty canvas depicting scenes of genocide. Whispers of the painting’s posthumous curse grew louder in local lore. Driven by curiosity and an obsession with entomology, Elias deciphered ancient runes resembling insect trails. The markings warned of retribution for greed-driven plutocracy. His hands trembled, spilling a bale of scrolls; a pomegranate rolled free, splitting like fate itself. Lost in a somber, somniloquist trance, Elias felt a surge of claustrophobia. “A jingoist deception,” he murmured, as shadows deepened—a chilling legacy of forgotten sins.