The candle burns low, flickering over an ancient tome. The cover whispers secrets only the brave dare know.
To summon the shadows' words, speak not, but listen. What they seek is a name long carved in stone.
Where lies its resting place?
Amongst the ebon tapestries, a shape lurks. It shifts, unfurling like despair itself. Each fold conceals riddles of silence.
Count the times you hear the toll of the bell. Remember—numbers jotted down will unravel the night.
The labyrinth breathes. Its twilight chambers echo sighs of bygones. Passages lead nowhere, everywhere, each with a door uninvited.
Keys fit not but unlock every door left ajar in memory's haunt.