Only shadows dance upon the formulas of yore, etched in the pages of time, crumbling to ash in the peripheries of madness.
Words spiraled down like dust in the flickering candles, weaving tales of sorrow and despair, growing deeper in silence, like a well never empty.
Reality begs for a grasped hand, yet it slips like a whisper in the dark; can you hear the chorus? The melody of void, echoing endlessly, a broken record looping.
Seek the echoes of forgotten realms