Whispers in the Apple Orchard

Among the twisted boughs of ancient trees, in the realm where shadows conspire, lies the nectar known only to forgotten souls. The cider, once vibrant, now an echo in the void.

Drink deep, they say, but the whispers warn in lilting tones—the sweetness in the bottle hides frostbitten vines, eternal in their embrace of the unknown.

The orchard trembles under the weight of unseen pilgrims, their footfalls marking the soil ripe with secrets. Brewed not from hands but from the moon's lament, the cider seeps into the silent night.

The Haunting Recipe

Do you dare to taste? Leave thy defiance here.

In Cider of the Ancients, lies your fate, sealed in bottles, barricading the forgotten truths of the living's sins and the dead's unending slumber.