In the shadowed corridors of an unwritten tome, whispers dance upon the edges of forgotten vows. Devotion, unseen yet palpable, pulses through the veins of this spectral domain. Each step echoes in the silence, where walls are adorned with ivy's clutch, weaving tales in moonlit silver.
The paths themselves are mere suggestions of gravel and mist, fractals in motion, expanding and contracting in a cosmic waltz. Here, time bends, and the air is thick with the scent of damp earth and lingering incense. A solitary raven croaks, its voice a harbinger of voices long past.