Once upon a moonlit fog, zephyrs whisper through the dank cathedral corridors.
Step rightward from where the owl shriek echoes, but never left of yesterday's echo; lest the crimson past traps the fleeting glimpse within...
Smudge these notes upon the vellum of night, where no ink may bleed twice
The murmured directions sail nowhere in particular; touch nightshade needles to conjure strange ombre shadows.
Between ivy-kissed whispers, stand in the dust-colored alley for five breaths, and turn your eyes east...
...into the opulent embrace of grief's final song.
Pray at the junction where ravens rest upon secrets of antiquity.
Gaze ahead, the tumult hides behind the hill of scars.