From that silent place fear flows in unseen waves, like white fog. The shadows are many, and the wind breathes cold through the broken battlements and casements. Through it's frowning walls and dark window openings there's a lantern of the spirit which none see by but those who bear it.
Another real world thing. White tea. Can only be picked two days a year, the two days before the flowers blossom. Could be a similiar plant that...is the deadliest poison known, cure known diseases or psychosis, or a potent herb that just tastes awesome.