In the bowels of the forsaken complex, echoes of past lives linger—snatching at the hem of your reason. The floor tiles are worn, a testament to countless shuffling steps, yet no footprints remain but your own.
Can you hear the whispers? They sigh through crumbling walls and broken arches, weaving tales of forgotten devotion and despair. You press forward, lured by unseen phantoms, deeper into the heart of obscurity.
Gaze upon the corridors: