Life is like a fable, its value lies not in its length, but in its content.
——Lucius Annaeus Seneca
The night had fallen, and the usually bustling streets were instantly surrounded by a tense and oppressive atmosphere.
The gas lamps flickered in the cold wind, casting mottled shadows. The crowd, deprived of sunlight, seemed like a herd of uncontrollable beasts; their faces and figures invisible, only countless dark shadows surged through the narrow alleys.
The air was filled with a strong smell of smoke and rust, intermingled with the pungent odor of gunpowder and an indescribable stench.
Stones, sticks, and shattered glass bottles flew through the air like hidden weapons, the sounds of collision, roaring, and screaming interweaving, resembling Beethoven's "Fifth Symphony in C Minor"—"Fate."
Bloodstains spread wantonly on the cobblestone pavement, weaving a shocking map that depicted the brutal path of this chaotic conflict.
