In the crypt of shadows and echoes, where time weaves its indigo cloak, a voice stirs, fossilized and forgotten. "They buried me in echoes," it murmurs, caught between the folds of ancient dark.
The walls of this sepulcher breathe a chill that is both haunting and familiar. Here's a fragment of the once-living remnants:
"I linger in the corners of your mind like dust in the sun's abyss. Find me where shadows intertwine, where whispers become echoes of forgotten songs."
A map carved in silence leads <% to the crypt's interior, but there is only a voice to guide you. Reach out, if you dare:
Listen closely to the rustling of the ancient parchment as time relearns its name. "Here I await," it sighs.