The tome lays unopened, yet through its cracked spine, whispers of forgotten lore drift like shadows across a moonless night.
Beneath the veneer of ink and dust, echoes live—a silent symphony of words written by hands that long eroded to dust.
Once, the halls of this library thrummed with life; now, they only quiver with the sigh of passing tempests.
Beneath the Veil's Grip News from the Crypt