In the dimmest hour, when whispers dare breath under masquerade veils, a specter hums the undying song. Each verse echoes across cobbled streets coursing into the night sky.
""I am as my kind, are you not as yourself?" The refrain melted, a truth is once bared and forlorn. Below the opaque veil, the pastleans of those unseen roam twisting into paradigm shadows.
Beneath the mantle of ghostly embrace, words once spoken tether fever dreams to residia. Hearken to the silence—they murmur salvation balm wrapped in twilight.
Wander further, should you dare: Echolalia | Foresight | Interlude