Beneath the whispers of forgotten echoes, the corridors wind like serpents in slumber. Here, in the ardent paths of the dreamscape, the shadows weave tales both archaic and unrecognized. They murmur the names of those who dared to traverse their sepulchral folds.
In this hollow domain, lies the once-cherished relic: an obsidian mirror, reflecting not the visage of the traveler but the abyss that lies within. To touch its surface is to recall memories that were never lived, yet feel intimately woven into the very fabric of one's soul.
The laughter of children echoes through the stone, a stark contrast to the desolation which appears omnipresent. These lilting cries resonate, a symphony played upon the strings of alien familiarity. Would you embrace them or cower in the twilight?
Whispers of the Emptiness The Twilight Portal Return to Shadows