As shadows stretch eternally beyond what is tangible, the unkindest ticks of metronomic despair pulse into the earthen fabric. Will you weave your own desperate echo? Unmasking the truth—though ugly, gripped by an infinite regress—this darkness devours recognition, slumbering shrines wrapped in vestiges of silky fears.
Consumed whispers flutter through obsidian trees, roots like twisted fingers teasing the moist embrace of a saturated earth.
A descent into the foreign realms, where time mangles—where moons unleash buried cries, drawing a heart's elegy.
Occult dwellers conversing in cadences of insanity, orchestrating hieroglyphs upon trembling mirrors, at once reflection and hidden depths.
Will you wander the corridors labyrinthine where each corner reflects a part of you, falling apart into myriad pieces?