The moon glows pale as a ghost's whisper, casting murmurs among ivy-wrapped bricks. Here lies the whispering crossroads—where ancient paths intertwine like tales spun in the dark.
Ancient stones breath secrets best left buried, a sinuous fog rolling through as if decided by an unseen hand. Beware of the tales untold, whispered on the winds.
The air thickens, resonating with echoes of souls adrift. They tell of travelers who dared to choose, yet never returned. Another hears, another speaks, and the cycle continues. What secret lies below the surface, waiting?