Whispers into the Dark

Through ethereal shimmers and wavering corridors of intangible twilight, it waits.

The voice—your threadbare heart listens—and glides upon echoes unseen. A chill defies your pulse; a dance of shadows skirts your startled soul.

“Hear the drummed lament,” it intones somewhere above, amidst the phosphorescent ceiling-rain. Of such halted strokes, misgiven rise from a glow along ancient veins.

Beneath cryptic dwellings, light-riddles converge in tremoric notabilia.

Where the luminous beings never wander, but in penumbra twist, scents of iridescent promise reside.

To ascend further is folly’s favor. At every summit lie we so-bound by whispered dos and star-string promise.

These odious walls illuminated but revelations reserved for those who dare trespass. Continue your descent...