A forgotten forest swallowed by perpetual twilight, where gnarled, leafless trees claw at a bruised sky streaked with veins of sickly green moonlight. Thick fog coils like spectral serpents around crumbling stone monoliths etched with glowing, indecipherable runes. Pale, luminescent wraiths drift silently between the trunks, their hollow eyes fixed on a crumbling altar at the clearing’s heart, stained with ancient blood and crowned by a skeletal tree sprouting black roses. A lone figure in tattered, ash-gray robes kneels before it, clutching a dagger with a blade of obsidian, their face obscured by a moth-eaten hood. Shadows writhe unnaturally, alive and hungry, while distant whispers hum a dissonant hymn that chills the air. The ground is littered with cracked masks, their expressions frozen in agony, and the faint glow of ghostly fireflies pulses in time with a heartbeat you can feel, not hear.