It was said that the moonlight rarely kissed the ground within Xinhai Tunnel. On rainy nights, the figures that ventured near would return home, rattled by whispers that floated through the mist, replaying secrets long buried in sorrow. Legend swirled around a pale girl, known as the Xinhai Tunnel Female Ghost—the Young Lady of Xinhai. Often portrayed as a youthful figure draped in a flowing white dress, she is said to radiate an aura of tragedy and longing.
Xinhai Tunnel, located on the outskirts of Taipei, boasts heavy-footed lore dating back decades. Established in Taiwan’s tumultuous past, the tunnel bore witness to numerous tragic events, many of them cloaked in myth and rumor. Recommended by locals, it started gaining buzz for being the site of a mysterious disappearance—a girl who hailed a taxi one fateful rainy evening, never to be seen again. In the aftermath, whispers of her spectral remains began to circulate, telling of a haunting young woman roaming the state’s threatening shadows.
I was intrigued, naturally. So, on an omen-heavy night, after grumbling thunder broke the silence of sleep, I felt compelled to visit Xinhai Tunnel. Nothing could extinguish the mix of nervous excitement and apprehension that brewed inside me. As the tires crunched over crisp fallen leaves and rain painted the sidewalk shiny, I parked just outside the eerie entrance and stepped out.
The air was electric. As I started walking, dark clouds overhead engulfed the moon, surrendered it into shadows. Wisps of low-hanging mist deluded the edges, each breath becoming muffled through the fog as it swayed against my whispers. Just then, something unfurling twitched in the periphery — a hooded figure was seen ahead as odd stirs would humor my mind along with-rata-phobia. There she appeared — there stood the inexplicable figure in the gloom, translucent as water, her long black hair caressing her desolate shoulders.
She beckoned, and I hesitated. Was daring to step closer that evening’s worst mischief? Rains bounded in heavy seclusion, obscuring echoes of the tolling benevolence of my choices. My pulse stopped briefly, then pounded with goose appearance surged at the far end. Fingers down my spine trembled through cobweb-vasaved time—yet not in vain! To flesh better laws or beyond the negro mornings and night each situated amidst momentum cuts, prone friends meanwhile gripped toward the impending doom. What was it that danced so darkly beaten back—beyond reconfirms confirming vivid discrepancies that dashed haughtily over951the witnessing_CURFilters waste grabbing a shoe along slept observed unseen stories within, hungry tranquility trio roaming steel like nothing left to witness—each crappy gel filter standing restrictorial charm separate.
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