Whispering Walls

The asylum sits isolated on a mist-shrouded hill, surrounded by a decaying iron fence. Overgrown vines creep along its crumbling stone walls, and broken windows reveal dark, yawning interiors. The main doors creak ominously, their brass handles tarnished with age. Inside, the air is damp, and the smell of mildew mixes with something faintly metallic.