In the depths of forgotten chests, where moths seldom tread, a rusty needle impales the fabric of history, whispering secrets heretofore unsung. To lift the veil of this abysmal fold is to unmask those stained truths.
On the shelves of a withered library, an ancient tome, bound in dubious leather, recounts tales of betrayal and through its cracked spine, sins rivaling those of men spill forth. Since the dawn of its tethered existence, it has awaited you.
The dusty vestiges of a soot-ridden clock tick in backwards defiance. Its hands, caught in eternal rivalry, betray the moments they covet. Time here is an inanimate nemesis, stripped of its dominion, bound within this crumbling mechanization of night's own making.
Open the Gate