Beneath the obsidian canopy, whispers weave between the voids,
stitching shadows into ethereal tapestries upon the dreams of mortals.
Ink bleeds words, forgotten by time, breathed by nameless stars,
celestial murmurs, echoes of a forgotten euphony.
The ravens speak in tongues woven of shadow and frost,
their cries a symphony for the lost and wandering souls.
In the ink of night, runes inscribed by unseen hands,
calling unto thee, daring thee to walk the forgotten paths.
Look beyond the veil of the waking world,
where slumbering echos of the past murmur soft cries.
The night sky holds no mercy, only secrets bound in chains,
unearth them, if thou dare.