In the deep, sighing silence between the whispering trees of Azure Vale, where the moonlight dares not wander, there lay shadows that stretch forever upon the ground—a lament for those who traveled but remained.
"The woods breathe," an elder once observed, eyes wide and hollow, like voids gouged through flesh into bone; he would not lie, for he had spoken with phantoms that the living feared to name.
Wander past the forgotten shrine at dusk, where neither dusk nor dawn can claim dominion, and hear the echoes of what once was, or mayhaps what shall be.
Beneath the silence, where only the wind's susurrus dances, there is an alleway, a whisper behind an uncertain corner, half-yielded to the eye, wherein truth bends to illusion and the shadows speak in tongues unlearned.
Dare you to uncover whispers in the dark? Or is it better, to let the echoes rest untroubled in their slumbering undertow?