"The old logs," she whispered, her voice but a brittle fragment in the gloom, "they speak of colors we dare not mention, hues that burn in silence." The library, a crypt beneath the city, held its breath as shadows danced across the ancient tomes. Under the watchful eyes of the specters, reality twisted, revealing the unspeakable.
Once, melodies spun forward, weaving tales of light and joy. Now, they are reversed, a somber dirge echoing through the halls of time. Each note, a lament for the lost and forgotten. A symphony of the damned, played on invisible instruments.
Do you dare to uncover more? Or will you remain within the circle of light, blind to the spectrum that lies beyond?