The impossible angles devour direction - victims wander endless recursive halls, aging years in hours. Their screams echo from the walls themselves. Players need consecrated chalk to mark safe paths, but something hollow watches from the angles between.

Crown was hidden FROM the bloodline - their ancestor fell to its corrupting whispers. Clan guards against the curse. Both claims are sacred. I'd have ancestral spirits judge worthiness: can the heirs resist what destroyed their forebear? Players bear witness.

The blade loved her so dearly it learned to BE her! Lost and lonely, it conjured a shimmering echo-captain - giggling phantom copy fighting in her place. She's touched: her sword missed her! Players must reunite them before magic fades.

Knife's embedded in the killer's sternum, grafting to bone. Signal pulses with their heartbeat. In one hour, blade metastasizes through skeleton-ribs, spine, skull. They become a living weapon, unstoppable. Race to find them before ossification completes.