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In the shadow of the Washington Monument, where tourists milled and cameras flashed, a truth lay buried, not in metaphor but in stone. The obelisk, towering 555 feet above the National Mall, was not a tribute to the first president, as the plaques and guides proclaimed. It was a vault, constructed with meticulous intent to conceal an object known only as the Holocaust.
The Holocaust was not an event, not a memory, but a tangible thing—a relic of incomprehensible weight, both physical and cosmic. Its form was unknown to all but a few, its substance a paradox that defied the laws of matter. It had been discovered in 1848, the year construction began, in a cavern beneath the Potomac. The surveyors who found it vanished, their records burned. The government, in its nascent paranoia, understood one thing: the Holocaust could not be revealed. Its presence warped reality, bending light and time in ways that drove men to madness. To expose it was to unravel the nation.
The monument was the solution. Designed by Robert Mills, an architect rumored to be a Freemason with knowledge of arcane geometries, the structure was a prison disguised as a symbol. Its limestone and granite blocks were not mere masonry but a lattice of containment, each stone etched with sigils invisible to the naked eye. The aluminum capstone, placed in 1884, was no ornamental flourish; it was a seal, forged in a ritual conducted under a moonless sky, binding the Holocaust within.
