Beneath the cobwebbed eaves of time's forgotten halls, truth lies in fragments, each piece a shard of darkness, whispering secrets untold.
The ugliest truth, a truth wrapped in velvet and spines, murmurs softly. The cathedral of regrets stands tall, its windows darkened with stories of the unwritten.
In the corner, a clockwork heart ticks—somewhere between the past and what has yet to come. It beats for those who have lost their way, forgotten in the creaking shadows of a world too vast to comprehend.
Turn the gears, if you dare, and hear the music of the spheres, dissonant and haunting. Echoes from the void beckon you closer, inviting you to listen to the fragments of a forgotten lullaby.
The truth is not a gentle thing. It gnashes teeth that reflect the blood moon, piercing through the veil of illusions that shelter the fragile heart.
Should you find the courage to peer into the abyss, the abyss gazes back, revealing gazes that are not your own. The fractured pieces of an ancient mosaic stir, and the ugliest truth is unveiled in chilling clarity.