As the clock struck thirteenth in the still of a winter's night, a whisper escaped the void. It flickered—a mosaic of desires lost in the static of forgotten frequencies. Through the doorway, the air tangos with the echoes of dreams born in twilight.
Static gnaws at your sanity, translating the silence into a tapestry of dreadful symphony, unheard by the waking. What do you seek behind the veil of whispers? Is it solace, or perhaps the bittersweet kiss of shadow?
The walls shiver in your presence, yet none dare to speak of the serenade played by the absence of light. Embrace the darkness, and like a moth to the flame, the doorway calls your name.
Illusion's Thought Chronicles of Depredation Voices of the Whispered Fragment