The veil is thin, and the night is listening. Shadows stretch long, reaching for those who dare to remember. The air is thick with whispers—secrets buried in dust, names lost to time, echoes of footsteps where none should tread.
The conjuring has begun—a summoning of stories waiting to slip from the silence and take form in the flickering glow of a feral flame.
Truth or fiction—it makes no difference.
Some stories are warnings.
Some are invitations.
And some...
Some are invocations.
I ask you now: What waits in the shadows of your memory? What have you seen, felt, or feared? Speak the words. Lay them to rest.
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