Confined within the splintered oak, the world whispers through the keyhole. Dreams collect dust atop the drawer, where parchment long crumbled still nestles. First, to speak, is the forgotten ledger. Its ink bleeds stories of debts unrepayable, marked figures rising like spectres at midnight.
In its belly, a lock secrets the tale of a paperweight, smooth and black as tar, forever guarding documents too dreadful to unveil. They are debts owed to someone who never forgets and never forgives, her name etched in the margins of neverending time. Listen to the echoes.
A pair of brass knobs, dull and tarnished, recount the days of hurried fingers and trembling hands. "We have seen the rage of storms break upon this hall," they squeal with metallic voices, "and heard the cries of those who dared open us without knowing what they invite within." Enter if you dare.
Finally speaks the drawer itself, a gaping maw of endless hunger born from wood and nails. "I consume the secrets of men, swallowing them whole, only to spit forth what is left behind: regrets, lost hopes, and dreams departed." Darkness chokes the air within its confines, thick as a winter fog on the moors. Reveal more.