The ancient tome, _Whispers in the Hollow_*, speaks in shrouded tones. One passage, footnoted in ghostly haze**, reads: "Beneath the moonless sky, the spirits trace their lament, a dirge no mortal dares to replicate." Such is the melody that chills the marrow of the night, echoed faintly in corridors where light fears to tread.
Another fragment summons visions of ethereal mist enveloping dim-lit halls. A citation from _Crimson Litanies_*** eerily concludes, "The wanderers, entwined with shadows, whisper secrets of a past etched in silence." It is said that those who pause to listen become vessels for these whispers, carriers of forgotten lore that wanes with the dawn's embrace.
Venture deeper into the veil: Ghostly Trails or ponder the Sable Shadows.