70. What on earth...?

“What on earth…?” I utter as I take in the sight in front of me.

I stand in front of the hunting lodge construction zone, right in front of the structure that is to be the main building of the hotel. The morning air is crisp, and the sun is already shining, brilliant rays filtering through the leaves of the canopies in the sorest surrounding us and hitting the ground, warming up the air particles in between. About twenty or so workers and senior staff stand around me, while Oliver and Coraline flank me. And all of us are staring.

“Fallhill does not belong to you. Leave!” Coraline reads what is written on a wall of the structure aloud. These words are written in black oil and red paint, alternating between them, in a bold, large font that takes over the wall. Surrounding it, there are skulls, knives, guns, trees, and animals drawn, all in surprising detail as if the perpetrators of the deed had plenty of time in their pockets. Whenever winds blow through the forest, the strings of toil
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