Phantom Grim

No one knows where it came from.Some say it was unearthed during a midnight excavation when a cathedral collapsed in on itself. Others claim it appeared in a sealed room of an ancient monastery—no doors, no windows, just… there, waiting. Its skull-like face bears no time or place, its features too smooth, too deliberate, like something carved not by hand, but by thought. Or nightmare.They call it Phantom Grim, but no one agrees on why.It doesn’t speak.It doesn’t move—until it does.Witnesses, if they exist at all, describe different things. A flicker of pale bone in the corner of a darkened hallway. A shape hunched in the fog at the edge of a graveyard, unmoving until your back is turned. One girl said its eyes were wrong—one was a black void, bottomless and silent; the other, an unnatural orb of icy light that hums if you listen too long.People disappear around it. Not violently. They just… don’t come back. And those who do speak in riddles, or lose language entirely. One man carved ci