As you venture deeper, the familiar constraints of time and space start to warp and distort. The landscape doesn’t make sense anymore. You catch sight of something behind the trees, but it disappears as soon as you try to focus on it. Is it the dead of night, or the crack of dawn? Is it summer or winter? Strangely, not knowing doesn’t bother you.

The rustling of leaves starts to sound like whispers. Sometimes, you can make out fragments in familiar languages. You sense that these verses are woven by the golden creature.

Compelled by the magic, you follow the whispers.

…Or the echoes seem ominous to your ears. A chilling dread crawls up your spine, urging you to turn back. You look for the now barely noticeable path out of the woods.