"Take the left turn at the stairwell made of shadows, descend into the whispers of roses,
and you shall find the ashen gate of forgotten truths."
Your feet may falter, but heed these solemn words; pouring rain sings below the surface.
Indecipherable love letters scattered by the winds on moonless nights!
A singed feather will guide your pathway.
Next, for you must beware: each click echoes eternal, drawing shadows nearer.
“To breathe is to ache; to float is to forsake”... once more, turn left at despair and grasp
the veil stitched with lost sorrows—
ever fearing the sigh of the raven's call.
Where memories linger like morning mist, look for the lighthouse with no sea.