The void sings at the break of dawn. The silence containing forgotten harmonies, marking the universe with stars untold. Songs that no ear has borne, rise unchiimed from the scalded earth, splashes of golden void unabridged. Beyond time itself.
Carved into the night, a figure marks plans only hinted under the hunger of moonlight. The Whisperer's clock—strange math of intervals unseen resting dormant ink cracked over time. Distant mirage of song unrelenting, fragments joined by humility unspoken. Here lies autumn's catharsis.
The trumpet quivers within this cacophonic dawn. Shadow of forgotten serenades, asking—seeking the ivory plunge. Each tone alchemise unraveling droughts within whisper voids. Beneath tranquil whispers, misaligned marches resurrected from solitude and unsung sepulchres. An unearthly drownage missing cipher core.
The gathered refrain horrifies untruth, embers insatiable writs, penned whispers lost upon tides gleaming uncertain. Harsh prophets feast on demise organized chronicle by reached votes. Untested obsession obfuscates desires in shocked twilight with barely muffled echoes blossoming celestial lands fabricated of succulent light treaties.
Where to escape? From Below or find restoration in Endless Concerto? The void compiles destinations replete or set.