In the midnight hour, when light itself fears to tread, the old house stood defiantly against the whispering winds. Its windows, like eyes long capable of sight, were covered in the dust of countless forgotten stories. Inside, the shadows danced not with the joy of life, but with a breathless anticipation of a tale yet to be told.
"Don't you fear the darkness?" a voice, echoing from no visible source, creaked within the corners blackened corners.
Follow the whisper.
Shadows, you see, do not fear the absence of light. Instead, they revel in it - a blanket of comfort that allows them to exist unobserved, free from mortal judgment. Beneath each flicker of an unseen candle soul, the house breathed a story of its own.
Like an old friend, it embraced the passing traveler who dared step within its boundaries, tracking the lone footsteps as they unwound the threads of mystery woven tightly around its foundations.
"Do you seek what others have sought before you?" the shadows teased, shifting and swirling in patterns too familiar to the ancients.
Consult the oracle.
With each step deeper into the heart of the house, the traveler discovered rooms filled with time's forgotten whispers - echoes of past memories stitched into the very fabric of existence. The walls, alive with stories untold, beckoned each visitor to listen closely....
Enter the paradox.