Beneath the shimmering vault, where stars are sold and secrets kept, the stones sing.
Lost voices of ancients, sweeping like wind-kissed lovers; they chant their desires for freedom.
To touch a stone is to embrace eternity itself, yet dread hangs like liquid silver.
But in every caress, a tale of betrayal simmers. Do you hear their hums, conspiratorial murmurs?
Whispers grow louder when you whisper back. They warn of hidden paths in the garden of stones.
Beware! For the stones may be plotting against you, weaving their own desires into your soul.