Gather ‘round the flickering embers, tales of forgotten paths we once traced in the soft glow of twilight. You remember those whispers, right? They used to say, somewhere around here, if you listen closely... it’s like stepping into a canvas, where the shadows paint stories
Where the air feels thick with... and the echoes of...
Some say the market was alive, bustling with...
And then you see them, the shadows, flaring up with streaks of...