In eternal night, they sing—an aria of vestiges, gathering tufts of lost stars and malignant shadows.
Through the corridors bow, creaking under the weight of time, serenades whisper like autumn leaves kissed by frost.
The chandeliers clatter in sepulchral glee, the air doused with specters' breath—a dance of echoes on the threshold of void.
Do you see the candle yet? It flickers, feeble—but the flame knows where the whispers gather, in havens of the forsaken.
Listen in Silence