A resplendent lightless glow spills across the carven stones, each ember a reflection of forgotten tales. Within this energy, the phantoms dance, lurking at the perimeter of one's consciousness. Their mere presence is a symphony of beneficial poisonous noise, slithering through the fissures of a troubled mind.
"In the depths of one's shadow, wild roses bloom. They're born of whispers that frighten the brave."
The pulse of pale resonances beats with an infectious undertone—a serenade for the forsaken. Here we find solace, beneath the twisted rafters of a cathedral draped in night. The echoes merely the stepping stones to realms most shun.
Follow the curve, meet your fate Simulacra of Eve's truth Deluge at the fortress's core