In the vast corridors of the nocturnal ache, where stars blink like distant memories, shadows weave a tapestry of untold fears. Each breath echoes as a distant thrum, a lingering note in a dirge sung by the void.
Hear the whispers? No, they are not words. They are thoughts untethered, floating like phantoms through the mists of forgotten dreams. Here, in the orchestra of silence, a symphony of unvoiced cries plays on repeat—an elegy for the lost.
The darkness holds a mirror to your soul, reflecting back the faces you fear to see. Old scars smile softly, welcoming you into the fold of their embrace. But the warmth is an illusion, a wraith of what could have been.