In the shadows of forgotten epochs stands a realm, neither here nor there, a labyrinth of whispers and echoes.
Voices linger, weaving tales lost to time, of ancient kings and spectral figures that dance.
Upon the altar of night, secrets bleed, forging paths in the void where every star is a tear wept.
The moon casts a pallid glow, illuminating the cyclical dance of fate and free will intertwining.
Gaze into the abyss of your making, where shadows of your past lives slip silently by.