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The tiles stand silent in their perfect rows, a frozen army awaiting the push that never comes. You trace the path with your fingertips—every gap a chasm, every millimeter a mile. One nudge. That’s all it takes. But equilibrium is a lie. The air hums with entropy, trembles with the weight of potential. Your hand hesitates. What if the chain falters? What if the third tile wobbles, the seventh veers left, the twelfth collapses too soon? Perfection is brittle. Chaos is patient. You steady your breath. The first domino trembles—a shudder, a surrender—then falls. Impact. Fracture. Momentum. The cascade ignites, a roaring tapestry of collapse. Tiles shatter like glass, each fracture a note in the symphony of ruin. You watch, pulse wild, as the pattern devours itself—a serpent eating its tail. But the final tile looms. Will it buckle? Will the chain hold? The world holds its breath. Victory isn’t in the setup. It’s in the reckoning. And when the last domino fractures, when the final echo fades… will you stand triumphant? Or will the silence reveal the flaw in your design? The answer unravels in the dust.
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