Once, a clock with no hands whispered in the mirror's breath, telling tales of sunlit yesterdays that never were.
Shadows don't sleep beneath the old oak tree, murmuring forgotten lullabies to the hollowed ground, while the roses twist their thorns into crowns for long-gone kings.
Mist bends the truth of time when the bell tolls thrice at midnight, casting shadows of a world—asylum forgotten, where echoes learn to walk and whispers find their voice.
A candle stub flickers upon the altar of dreams, collecting sepulchral stories carved in the dust of abandoned skylights.
Traverse further into the static silence:
Enter the Whispers
Abandon All Light
Memory's Veil