Throughout the night, the hall whispers secrets in a language older than decay itself. Here, in the flickering twilight, you will find truths not meant for mortal eyes:
The Winter Maiden sleeps beneath the altar, clutch her veil for passage.
Count the steps to find solace, yet stay the unwelcome visitor's hand.
To traverse the night unchained, know the riddle coiling your name.
The grand threshold is crossed not by stepping, but by letting go. Here the air is thick with the tang of forgotten beginnings and perhaps endings yet to start:
Listen carefully as the gatekeeper murmurs ancient incantations from beyond the veil:
Become fluid, the prayers spoken by voiceless forms.
Turn your gaze inward, for the journey is perilous yet essential.