The realm is cloaked in shadows, where whispers of a thousand voices tug at the edges of whispered dreams. Petals, not of silk, but of desolate blight, fall endlessly upon the ground, each echoing a truth too vile to be spoken. Here, in this unyielding crypt of time, where even the light falters, a symphony of decay serenades the stars.
Beyond the horizon of sight, reality bends, warps, and dissolves, leaving remnants of a once-clear understanding. Creatures, birthed from the charred whispers of forsaken voids, roam amidst the echoes, their eyes a reflection of darkness unnameable.
What lies beneath the surface of night? The ugliest truth is not what you see, but what you unsee. As the ground shifts beneath your feet, a carpet of memories—faded and drenched in sorrow—unrolls, each thread a story left untold.