In the writhing hush of the deep unknown,
the walls breathe quietly… watching.

A tremor hides beneath the inked grain of this place,
like a creature pressing its form against thin paper,
yearning for release.

Each syllable you breathe disturbs the silence,
and the silence remembers.


Something old has awakened, and it follows your descent.

Something stirs beneath the parchment skin of reality—
a presence coiled in patient silence.

Its whispers seep between the margins,
drifting like dust through forgotten halls.

Shapes without form lean close to listen,
sensing the warmth of your passing.


It knows the path you take, and it waits at every turn.