Do walls ever dream? At Peleș Castle, folded into the muscular hush of the Bucegi Mountains, stone and timber seem to breathe when no one is listening. This is not a castle that poses politely for postcards. It broods. Walnut, teak, and rosewood loom with a polished menace, exhaling resin and memory, while carved faces peer from panels as if mildly offended by your presence. Romania does that. It does not sell fantasy. It hands you history raw, unfiltered, and faintly unsettling. Commissioned by