In these chambers, where light dares not linger,
the echoes of forgotten voices weave through cracked stone.
Whispering secrets in tongues long silenced,
their chants create the fabric of a world's undoing.
The clock ticks backward, for time knows its sins here.
Shadows dance with a rhythm known only to the moon,
while the walls keep the laughter of the damned
behind closed eyes of marble and moss.
Among the cobwebs, secrets nest.
The wind carries the scent of old prophecies,
and the floor is a map of forgotten dreams,
blank and open, waiting for the stories of the abyss.