It lurks on the edge of most maps/any map/every map, a festering sore/wound/gash on reality. They say laughter died in Grimsville long ago/recently/sometime. A creeping chill/sorrow/despair hangs over the place, making even the sun look sick/appear dull/seem to weep. The buildings are twisted/broken/bent, their windows like vacant eyes/staring into

Many claim to sense these whispers, faint traces of those who have passed. Some attribute them to the power of suggestion, while others firmly believe that they are genuine communications from the spirit realm. These whispers {can be heard inempty rooms, or felt as a chilling touch. Often, these ethereal murmurs offer clues to past lives. Are they