Do you hear the echoes of forgotten voices?
In the shadows, beneath the floorboards, secrets stir. “They watch us,” murmurs the wind through cracked stone, “They know…”
In the heart of the cloister, a tapestry unfolds. Threads woven by unseen hands, patterns whispering in tongues unspoken. Beneath the moon, the truth dances, elusive as fog over the hills.
The streetlamps outside flicker, casting long arms across your path. “Follow the light,” a voice calls softly. “Or stay in the dark,” replies another, deeper, echoing like thunder.
The Council convenes in secrecy, their faces obscured by hoods. Around the table, shadows meld, conspiratorial eyes glimmering like distant stars.
Trust not the path that is paved before you, for it is laid with intentions veiled. Seek the hidden door, the one that remains untouched by time and dust. Beyond it lies the answer, the truth of the whispering cloister.
And as you question, remember: the labyrinth breathes, and every turn may lead you deeper into the heart of the unspeakable.
The final verse is sung by a voice older than stone, a voice that knows all yet tells nothing. "The walls have ears," it intones, "and the truth is a prisoner."