Amidst the tendrils of night, woven from silence, there emerges a realm, untamed by daylight's gaze—a tapestry etched in forgotten sadness.
A curious mirror stands, reflecting a world of solemnity, where every incremental tick echoes as whispers lost in time.
Attributes are forsaken titles, monikers of secrecy carved in the tongues of crows.
The Story anew of how shadows grew stale in their weeping slumber; lost thoughts hanging by a thread, yearning for fulfillment in the quiet dark. See:
Murmurs of the Obsidian RealmAttribute to those who seek—thine echo, lies barefoot on a trail forgotten.