In the cavernous halls where the whispers drown,
Forgotten relics in veils of sorrow;
The brush dripped crimson on yesterday's crown,
—Seeking the morrow that never shall follow.
Below the gnarled surface of the known world, the paintings breathe in silence. Dreams whispered, shunned by light, clad in shadow's sanctuary, await the touch of a viewing gaze.
Behind the echo, the murmurs converge,
Phantoms dance lightly, in woven embrace;
Nights curtain falls, as the heart starts to surge,
—To swirl and to twine in their wretched place.
Each brushstroke a story, each color a scream, the hidden canvases are an echo of eternity's forgotten hymn. Unlock the rusted sigils that guard their secrets.