Out in the realm where shadows dip and weave unseen, lies the grove shrouded in murky whispers. Here, amidst the overgrowth, time bends, folding forgotten paths into obscure labyrinths.
Among the cypress and creeping ivy, the air holds its breath. Footfalls muffled against the ebony carpet, despair drapes over the Tree of the Forgotten, its gnarled branches clutching at dim reflections of stars eclipsed beyond reach.
There's a lull of unspoken oaths, lips drawn tight against the siren's calls hidden within the whispering leaves. Here, seekers of solace linger, seeking silhouettes of lost ones, blinking against the unseen light.
The only truth lies within the echoing laugh of the mad wind, for in this grove, embrace the shadows—but try not to lose yourself within their spectral waltz.
Chart the paths if you dare Murmurs or risk the Spectral Phantoms lurking beyond sight's veil.