In the obsidian depths, where silence breaths its ominous hymn, I receive thine whisper. This parchment trembles not from the chill of the abyss but from the resonance of ancient souls, forever intertwined with shadows unspoken.
Beyond the granite folds lies a dimension soaked in moonlight's ghostly hue, where echoes become wings, soaring through the caverns into realms untouched by mortal gaze. There, a message waits, carving its ephemeral path through the dark.
Is it not the call of the forlorn specters you discern? Their lament, a melody woven from the marrow of untold stories, seeking vessels in which to pour their despair. Do you listen, or do you merely close thine eyes, shielding thyself from the unseen veil?