A Procession of Revenant Relics

They move silently, with reverence.
Their steady, calm pace through The Woods of Venerated Voices gives them an air of solemn contemplation. Their task deserves a sense of grandeur.
They have often felt they do not belong. They do not fit in. They are the ghosts of the past and the ghosts of imagination. They are the whispers in the woods. Part of The Archives, but not within them. An ever-annex.

But not today.

The Mementos that were discovered in the vaulted bowels of The Spire of Malign Splendours were deemed out of place by The Curator.
As relics born from the fleeting stories bound to summons sent, a more fitting concept was conceived for their new abode. And thus, a chapel was brought into being beneath the branches of The Woods—there where lost legends dwell.

So now they walk. They walk and guide those who will soon dwell amongst the bark with them to their new home. Swollen with pride and purpose—seen by all who care to notice.
O Recognition, worn upon our chests as an emblem of shimmering gold.

Their spectral trail winds onward, a faint glimmer, found by inquisitive minds in twilight, beneath the underbrush—leading, eventually, to a chapel still only half-constructed, or long since partly burnt. A place not built, but shaped from destruction, from shadow and silence.

Within its walls, in alcoves carved by time or intention, the Mementos now rest.

Not watched.
Not guarded.
Only waiting.

Waiting, and hoping, for eyes bold enough to seek them, and hands reverent enough to light a candle in their remembrance.