Entry Six

Whispers and Wails of Yore

"The windows gaze upon us, without eyes, without mercy. I hear her voice, resonant like undercurrents beneath ice..."

Upon these threshold stones, where ivy chokes the light and moonlight becomes a shroud, a voice crosses over:

“You will never find what you seek... for in each room, the walls remember, the past bleeds...”

Do the walls tell the seneschal tales? Treading ever deeper into this tapestry of turmoil and goblins, one might breathe in the silence that cries.

"The clanging of chains in hallways long empty. Are they ours, or do they belong to those who came before?"

Stories hastened beneath cobwebs, unable to gather dust lest breath itself be stolen. Truth lain bare behind forgotten doors.