In the twilight of forgotten halls, where shadows meet the unmarred floorboards, pages tremble. Lost tales echo, their spine-chilling secrets encoded in whispers woven by the starlit weaver.
The clock strikes seven, though time chooses not to linger here. A solitary raven perches atop a crooked tomestone, guarding passages of parchment inscribed with wanderings of souls untethered to the earth below.
Beneath is a cryptic tale, a tale meant only for the initiated, those whose eyes align with the invisible codes of the ink. Seek not in daylight, for daylight dooms the seeker.