Shadowed by ancient stone, the corridor yawns like a throat. Its whispers curling your spine, promises of forgotten secrets, tales breaching the threshold of sanity.
You step, and each echo reverberates as if the stones themselves share your solitude, your madness.
A flicker of past lives, wandering spirits, a southern breeze, yet you smell only the dust of ages. Paths diverge and converge, but all lead to the same unspoken truth.