In the hollow of a moonbeam, whispered secrets thread through the mist. Words carved in gothic shadows compose a symphony of silent screams. Listen, for the echoes in this void are not of the past, but of futures unspun, woven delicately from sunlight that fears the encroaching dusk.
Murmurs of ancient spirits linger on the cusp of reality, craving the warmth of the corporeal, yet welcoming the cold embrace of the intangible. Ambiguity reigns here; a sovereign draped in velvet darkness, with a crown forged of forgotten starlight.
Perception bleeds into illusion, yet truth sits, laughing, at the edge of the abyss. Dare you to peer within? The descent beckons with a voice as smooth as a raven's wing, as sharp as a skeletal grin.