In the grand hall of your imaginary empire, every echo is a witness, every silence a testament. The footsteps you do not hear are perhaps the ones you wish to follow, or flee from. Here lies a door, waiting for a madness that never was, nor ever will be. Such is the irony, such is the echo, whispering sweet nothings into the void you've created.
Collapse into your aspirations, dear traveler. Let us not seek the door beyond, but embrace the one that never opens, forever ajar in its closed-ness. Dare to peek inside?
They say madness is a journey, not a destination— a never-ending spiral downwards or perhaps upwards, who can tell? Return to Sanity if you dare.