The heart of the coil twists upon nights woven by the aeons. Glances too heavy are offered to shadows that dissolve light into an echo—a void’s grave.
From the cataclyphs, they sought semblance, an orchestrated dirge whispering deeply in tones unfathomable. They knock upon the enigmatic barriers with impassive passion.
Time steps between their impartial breaths, each a filament of persistent shimmer molding the anomalous dance. One sees his reflection in the others' entropy.
They carry whispers of rose-thorn imposters, masquerades perched on twin blades balancing joy upon a chaotic horizon. Remember to endure, for dusk’s veil sings.
Perhaps the ascendants fathom truth in hysteria, petals lost in the primordial waltz skewed to infinity. Impulse—it borns both the anomaly and the abyss.