Whispers of the Hidden Folk

Snow stops making sound. The night folds in on itself, as if something

has erased the noise from the world. Then it appears — a pale white sphere

hovering over an ancient mound, edges blurring like the air is being rewritten.

Shadows vanish. Depth collapses. The world flattens into white and black. The Hidden Folk

remember their borders, and you see the lights that guard their thresholds and count those

who cross them. The forest goes silent all at once. Too heavy. Too complete.

And when you blink, it is gone. This time, it is real. What would you do

if a light with no flame measured you in the dark? Mythveil Chronicles — Real Horror