In the twilight of forgotten shores, where the moon's gaze falters, a melody weeps. The seashell cradles whispers of old, voices swallowed by the salt and time, singing of shadows that dance upon the water’s edge. Listen closely, and you may hear a legend of the deep, trapped within the spiraled confines of shell and sand.
Beneath the crashing waves, a woman sings—her voice an ethereal thread, weaving through the mist and moonlight. Once a siren, now a lonesome echo, she calls to the mariners lost in dreams of gold and glory. Will you heed her song, or remain ensnared by the whispering abyss?
The old lighthouse keeper spoke of her, the spectral melody that rolled over the ocean like fog at dawn. "She is beauty and sorrow," he said, his eyes like hollowed shells themselves. “The seashell holds her truth, but her truth is not for the living.”
Continue the reverie through the haunted whispers or let the echoes fade into shadows untold.