thepaintedrealm. Oil painted and horror art style. A vast chasm, its edges lined with blackened temples and crumbling altars. At the bottom, something breathes. Not wind, not life—something older, something nameless. The closer one stands to the edge, the more they hear it: a whisper with no voice, a promise with no words. Those who listen too long begin to change—skin cracking like old parchment, bones shifting into new and dreadful shapes. The priests of this abyss have no eyes, no tongues. They do not need them. They simply stand at the precipice, waiting for the day the Mouth will open fully—and swallow the world whole.