Behold! The Infinite Storehouse, where the echoes of forgotten nights tumble endlessly through shadowed corridors. Each path leads nowhere, yet everywhere at once.
Voices hushed—speak of halls with doors that unlock not to light, but to depths unseen. Intuit, if you dare, the meaning clad in veils of whispered fears.
Among the shelves of who-knows-what, one might find a relic of your own memory, faded and crumbling like autumn leaves caught in a moonlit breeze.
Enter the Dream