Shadows on the corners. Prickles at the back of her head. The silence which stretched wide and lie ahead, the clicked and creak, the sounds screeched as she pushed open the door of her room. Leandra foresaw the vastness of how the voice echoed, but not on this halls. It didn’t bounce back on the walls, but seemingly carried by the wind she couldn’t fathom where it might have came from. There’s this sizzle, the dawn which covered the sky and the coldness sweeping through from the cracks, settled from the walls, dusting across her skin left her cold. It was filling the night air, which hold no difference at how winter often come across. The voice resonant, the dread reckons, or was it the dead who are speaking to her? The life sow and reap, the Palace inhabited by those souls who undergo unj
