In ancient shadows deep, the whispering echoes sing: dark, ebony, curtains impaired by a shroud of forgotten dreams. Windows to nonexistence flicker behind broken-glass frames—a fading solemn call to those who wandered. Steps, echoless, along the nadir.
Wander
Shadows converge; the reality blurs. To become one with dusk, lose yourself. Everything decays. All is still
enchanting.
Forgotten
Words caress the ether, a mere hiss as specters web the vapors above valleys forlorn. The dark carousel
rides unto nowhere.