In the echoing caverns of your own creation,
where whispers map constellations of dread,
the shadows grow wings, and the floorboards speak
in code only understood by the light.
Follow the whispers deeper, but beware their sweetness, their venom masked
in velvet tones that lull the wary heart.

Paths diverge, like thoughts in restless minds,
each turn a mirror, each mirror a door,
reflecting what was lost in the pursuit
of clarity amidst the haze of designs unseen.
Hollow promises call, beckoning with the warmth of forgotten truths,
as the skies weep colors unseen in daylight.

Beneath the layers of ancient lore and dusty volumes,
beneath the weight of years that carve whispers
into stone, dread secrets slumber in waiting.
The unfurling truth is a serpent, coiling with intent—
Trust the scent of iron as it leads
through shadows that taste like rain from other worlds.