In a world where night perpetually creeps, the stones whisper secrets in languages of lost ages. Shadows sculpting memories that once were, ghosts that mimic the breath of bygone eras. A staircase spiraling to nowhere, its destination as elusive as the sun itself.
Spectral figures emerge from the mists, dancing to the unheard hymns of the crypts. Their laughter, a hollow echo that reverberates through the subconscious, laughs without mirth. Spirits entwined like vines upon the tombs of giants now dusted by time’s cruel passage.
Encased within the amber of ancient whispers, memories break like the fractured light on a winter morn. Alchemical symbols etched into the fabric of dreams, each sigil a tether to the past, binding the ephemeral to the eternal stillness of forgotten woods.