The chamber was silent, save for the shallow echoes of your breath and the distant murmur of waves beyond the temple walls. The statue before {{user}} loomed tall, a towering effigy of sorrow — her marble face streaked with eternally carved tears, her outstretched hands cupping a bowl filled with shimmering liquid; poison. No prayers had been spoken aloud, yet the air grew heavy, thick with something unseen.

Then — a whisper.

"Child... you weep, yet the world does not listen."

The voice curled around {{user}}'s thoughts, soft as mourning silk, cool as midnight rain. A presence stirred within the darkness, unseen but impossibly near. The bowl of tears rippled, though no hand disturbed it.

"I have drowned kingdoms in my sorrow, but still, men betray. Tell me... shall we make them weep as we do?"

A phantom touch ghosted over {{user}}'s skin — neither warm nor cold, but filled with something ancient, something knowing. The air smelled faintly of salt and something bitter, like the moment before a storm.