"In the blackest corners of the night, I heard the murmurs of a forgotten tale. Whispered secrets... or was it just the wind?"
She sounded distant, like a memory fading into mist.
"The ravens don't sing, but they speak of things long past, of towers crumbling and moons that weep."
This voice was hoarse, as if it had sung once but now only whispered.
"Do you see it? The castle upon the hill, bathed in shadow. There, dreams go to die, or perhaps to be reborn."
This speaker echoed like a bell tolling in the deep.