The Museum of What Once Was

 

There is no road to the Museum of What Once Was. No gate to pass through, no door to open.

And yet, those who arrive are never turned away.

 

Within its walls rest things that not lost by hands, but mislaid by time itself. Artifacts with no maker.

Objects with no record of ever being made.

 

Each time a part of  The Blackmere Verses is pieced together and whispered aloud in its entirety, a new object appears overnight, laid quietly upon a pedestal.

No one has ever seen them arrive. No one knows why they do. By morning, without fail, a new entry awaits in the Almanac - always signed: Addison Black.

Each line exact, each fact precisely as it must be.

 

Some whisper that the items are cursed. Others claim they are memories, trapped in form. Most say nothing at all...

For some things were never meant to return.

 

You are not expected. But you are welcome.

Should you wish to proceed, the museum lies ahead.