In their cling to stone and saline silence, barnacles serve as a testament to the stalwartness of stories unheard. Their anchorage into the rocky underpinnings of the worldly rivers paints tales writ in an ancient script, legacies sealed in alabaster shells against the tumult.
Beneath oceanic draws, where light narrates no boundary nor comforts, memories are cradled like seeds between the shells' siesta and collide of muscle—like ancient scripts softly diving into the grainy abyss. Pick them apart, their whispers indicate a lineage of untold adaptations.
If tongues swayed in currents less warm, perhaps they echo as barnacle wishes; immutable against bristling slips. Have we not understood each disappointment writ within an unseen passage anchored by tales of what was and what cannot be?
Transcripts of Tidal Lowliness Codex Sealed Against The Dark