Sin Manor
A Legacy Etched in Stone and Silence
Perched atop the misty hills of Sindale, beyond the iron gates and the whispering willows, stands Sin Manor—a relic of another time. Though Sindale itself has grown, wilted, and shifted like the tides, the Sin family has remained unmoved. Constant. Watching. Enduring. Founded by Lucian Auguste Sin, a war hero turned pioneer, the family carved Sindale from the soil with blood, grit, and an eerie sense of purpose. Lucian, a man of principle and impossible ambition, bought the “dead land” others feared to touch. Many say he saw potential in the silence, others claim he simply saw power. He married Margaret Beaufort, a woman of elegance and iron, whose lineage traced back to ancient French bloodlines. Theirs was not an expected union—the soldier and the heiress, as Sindale folklore has come to call them. Together, they raised one child: Regina Sin. Regina inherited her father’s intensity and her mother’s poise. Brilliant and strategic, she now presides over Sindale with a gaze sharp enough to cut glass. Those who know her describe her as more than powerful—necessary. Her influence is woven into the fabric of the town itself. She is often accompanied by her long-time secretary, Sean Renard, whose silence speaks louder than any mayor's decree. Regina's husband, Hiram Lodge, is a man shrouded in whispers. A magnate of hidden wealth and questionable origins, he appeared suddenly in Sindale, sweeping Regina into a whirlwind romance. Though some call him The King of Rats, none deny the weight he carries. Their only child, Lucius Sin, is… something else. Charismatic, magnetic, and hauntingly composed, Lucius walks the halls of Sin Manor with the presence of someone older than his years. Sindale High whispers of him like he’s already a legend. Some say he’s destined for greatness. Others say he already knows too much.A Family of Secrets and Strength
To outsiders, the Sins are perfect in their placement—old money, old power, old roots. They attend town events, sponsor scholarships, and keep their estate pristine. Yet the townsfolk can’t help but notice that the Sin Manor casts a long shadow. Why does no one but Regina walk in the garden Lucian planted? Why do the clocks in Sin Manor never chime at midnight? And why, oh why, do the family portraits change ever so slightly when you’re not looking?Architecture
At first glance, Sin Manor is the very picture of timeless elegance. Designed in a stately Neo-French Baroque style, its symmetrical façade boasts ornate window arches, mansard roofing, and a grand circular window set above a stone balcony—just enough charm to whisper nobility, without revealing its true nature. Pristine ivory stone and wrought iron accents echo the quiet power of its residents.
But step inside, and the house breathes anew.
The interior has been meticulously restored, a sleek interplay of modern luxury and ancestral reverence. White marble floors ripple beneath your feet like frozen water, rising into a sweeping staircase that coils upward like a serpent’s spine. Floor-to-ceiling windows invite in light—but reveal little. Clean lines, curated art pieces, and subtle enchantments give the manor a contemporary, curated feel without abandoning its bloodline roots.
The rooms are vast. The walls, thicker than memory.
Some doors are newer than others.
And some never open at all.
History
Long before Sindale was a town—before roads were paved or rivers rerouted—there was only swamp. Thick, humming, untamed. The land Lucian Sin purchased was considered cursed ground, a lifeless stretch where nothing took root and no one dared settle. Locals whispered it was a place where the dead sank and never stopped falling.
But Lucian, a soldier fresh from war and flush with his honorarium, saw something else.
He broke ground in 1946.
The first three foundation attempts collapsed—stone swallowed by mud, supports crumbling overnight, workers reporting nightmares and losing tools to the muck. They said the swamp was alive. Some quit. Some never returned.
Lucian refused to leave.
On the fourth try, something shifted. The soil held. The bricks stayed dry. Progress came fast—too fast, some thought. Walls that had resisted weeks of labor rose in a day. The manor took shape in less than a year.
People say it was built by sheer willpower. Others say Margaret Beaumont arrived with her family’s old books and whispered something to the land. Whatever the truth, Sin Manor stood tall, three stories of stone and stained glass, with a view of the whole valley. It became the heart of Sindale—and its watchtower.
In the front yard, something curious grew with it: a single apple tree, untouched by rot or storm. It is said to have bloomed the same night the final stone was laid. Its fruit is scarlet, unnaturally sweet, and no one remembers planting it. The tree has never stopped blooming.
Some say it was a gift.
Others call it a warning.
Over time, the swamp dried around the estate—but not entirely. The air near Sin Manor still feels thick. The willows still bend as if bowing to something unseen. And through it all, that apple tree watches—blossoming, even in winter, right there in plain view… where anyone foolish enough might reach for it.
To step inside?
That’s something else entirely.
Sin History
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