In the deep obsidian night, a lament escapes the ivy-covered tombs. A hand stretches towards no existence.
Time trickles like water through ancient stones, echoes of shadows pounding softly on the marrow of sleep.
They speak, the remains of souls suspended in the dark. Secrets buried, unuttered, waiting beneath faded earth.
Transgress the circle of salt; dare to listen, stray traveler, wanderer of the tangled dreams and unclean paths.
Fangs of silence bite into your thoughts, pulling whispers of dread from the edges of reality within each breath.