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

The shadowy depths hold secrets more sinister. Legends whisper of a creeping presence, the unseen shadow stalks the dreams of innocent souls. Consuming by an demonic power, this terror watches its targets in a state of blissful slumber. A shiver chills you to the bone. It's nearer than you think, lurking just outside the flickering lamplight, waiti