A corridor wrapped in velvet blackness, the floor beneath a mirror of obsidian. You step, the sound swallowed by the void. The walls whisper secrets, unheard, unseen. Shadows stretch, crawl, dance in the periphery, though you know better than to look.
In the absence of light, a moonless sky, the cries begin. Not from lips, but from the soul, unraveling, threading through the interstices of this abandoned place. They tug and pull, an echo of despair, yet their source remains hidden, shrouded in mystery.
And still, you walk, guided by whispers, by the touch of shadows against your skin. An unseen hand brushes your arm, silk against steel, a reminder of what once was, and what could be. The silence screams louder, a cacophony of forgotten dreams.
Enter the Whispering Maze