The Shroud-Eater — Voice of Forgotten Tombs

Wrapped in silence,
fed on dust.
It wears no tongue,
yet devours every word.
 
The Shroud-Eater was once a king entombed in linen and stone, his name etched deep into tablets so that memory would never abandon him. But the Codex does not permit remembrance. It slithered into his tomb, unwrapped his flesh, hollowed his mouth, and bound his skull in endless hunger.
 
Now it drifts between crypts, a head without body, its jaw chattering though no voice escapes. It feeds not on flesh but on remembrance — every name carved into stone, every prayer whispered into dust, every story told of the dead. Where it passes, graves forget their tenants, and even mourners lose the faces of those they loved.
 
The Codex binds it among the Born of Night, for it is not merely corpse nor specter but hunger made skull. It is said that when the Shroud-Eater fixes its hollow eyes on you, the first thing you forget is your own name.