In the heart where sunlight dares not tread, a haunting silence stirs. Shadows of yore weave tales frail and forgotten, beneath twisted branches that arch like skeletal hands. Voices—foreign, yet familiar—call softly, caught on the breath of the wind.
Here, the air is thick with murmurs, hushed and sibilant, echoing through the leaves like a dirge for the lost. A raven cries, its sound a morose chime resonating against the looming dusk. None see the specters that tread these woods; none hear their silent screams, but their presence is felt— a cold shiver against the spine.
Dare you follow the path where the light abandons all hope, to realms where even the brightest stars dare not shine? Shadows dance in your periphery, weaving an unseen tapestry of despair and echoing laughter...