The sky above an obsidian sea, inked with shadows, calls the forgotten whispers. A hollow chamber echoes with the cries of lost dreams, caught in a web of fragile despair—a lattice, crumbling.
Do these echoes belong to the realm of sleep, or to a waking nightmare? The air is thick with the scent of rusting iron and perfumed with the sweetness of decay. Here, in the midnight corridors, wandering souls seek the solace of their own reflections.
You tread softly, for the ground is uneven, the path forgotten. Tread carefully through the whispering walls, for the voices know your name.
And as the sun sets over the ancient stones, the sky melts into crimson hues, painting a portrait of silent elegy.
Venture deeper into the heart of murmuring woods where shadows hold secrets never meant for daylight.