In the theater of disorder, the curtains are drawn back to reveal a tapestry of forgotten whispers, threads of sorrow woven into the loom of night. Behold how the stars, in their twisted orbits, mock the hands of fate that sculpt the cosmic void with trembling brushes.
The clock strikes thirteen, an echo in the silent cathedral where time bends like a broken spine. Here, in these hallowed halls, the specters of reason and madness embrace, their union a symphony of dissonant harmonies that defies the very essence of understanding.
The abyss gazes back, its depths unfathomable, as we traverse the corridors of shadows, past the doors marked 'Nevermore', where the echoes of ravens perch eternally upon the fragile precipices of light and oblivion.
Enter the Whispering Gates Follow the Labyrinth of Echoes Gaze upon the Abyssal Inscriptions