In the hollow demesne of a forsaken twilight, voices intertwine with the fog,
echoing solemn tales of shadowed dreams that once were, and those yet to unfold.
A raven's call, ruptured by silence, lingers long after its ebony wings fan the dusk.
Here, reality blurs at the edges, dissolving like a fading photograph,
stitched in the seams of an endless night. The stars are mere pinpricks,
reminders of a long-lost horizon.
The whispers speak of journeys uncharted, of paths woven in ancient lores,
where every step is a communion with the unseen, an embrace of the void.