In the shadowed corridors of your mind, paths untread lie, waiting for the faintest echo of intention. Each step reverberates through hidden chambers, where fear and intuition entwine like ancient lovers bitter and sweet.
"A sound without source; a feeling without form..."
The echoes are whispers turned to screams, faint and then fervent, drawing maps with fingers dipped in moonlight. Listen closely, for the paths you seek are hidden in plain sight, veiled by the mist of unspoken words.
A labyrinth where each turn brings you face to face with the specter of your own making—an echo cloaked in shadows. Dare you follow it to the source, or do the whispers lead you astray?