Dearest Stranger,

Whether by accident or aching intention, you have opened a door that does not enjoy being opened, not in the ordinary sense. 

The Stories archived and collected here are delicate and dangerous. They hum softly under the floorboards and grow roots in forgotten corners. They do not ask to be told. They insist.

I did not write them. I only listened.

My name is Aliceon Wicked. I am the Archivist of Whispers and Librarian to the Lost.

My Sacred Duty is to find and catalogue the stories others pretend not to see. To catalog the sorrow sewn into hemstitches, to alphabetize lullabies that never quite end. Some call it obsession. I call it devotion.

But if something lingers- if a verse won't leave, or a shadow feels familiar, do not be afraid. Some things are meant to return. 

You may read on if you wish.
But tread softly.
And fear not what roots in crooked,
That's how truth blooms here.

Aliceon Wicked
Archivist of Whispers
-from beneath Gloomwood, where the paper breathes and ink remembers