Above the cobwebbed altar, a single candle flickers, its flame the only witness to the shadows that twine and murmur.
Here, in this realm of faded whispers, footsteps echo in rhythms not meant for mortal crescendos.
A hymn drips from the cracked stone walls,
weaving stories of forgotten realms and dreams never dreamt
beneath the haunted moon's cold embrace.
Yet, follow the path of frost-bitten embers, beware;
they lead in circles, round and round to nowhere.