"Whisper the secrets that alight on the frail wings of the dusk, echoing like the haunting chimes of a forgotten cathedral.
The wind is a sly accomplice to the stories of madness, cradling the echoes of twilight with a lover's embrace.
Do you hear them, the cries buried beneath the sands of old? They weave a tapestry of words most wicked.
Follow the thread... but beware its snare, for sanity is a fragile ornament in this realm of spoken shadows."
Under the Bat's Wing
Crescent Reckoning
The Hollow Ring
Converge, dear reader, upon the festival of echoes—
the lunatic's lullaby beneath the moonlit wreath.
Speak to the wind, in riddles unbroken,
for its twilight secrets long left unspoken.