In a corner of the heart where echoes fester, a murmur shifts between realms. Nostalgia is a grinning spectre, luring the unwitting into an embrace suffused with the scent of decaying roses, and laughter turned to ash.
Yet, is it comfort when frost creeps into the marrow, and the echoes of bygone laughter orchestrate our demise? Little whispers drown in bittersweet reverie, steeped in twilight aromas: lingering glances exchanged, forgotten secrets, the slow pulse of fading light.
Perchance the clock tolls, and time, a feral beast, gouges its talons into soft flesh. We dance in the morose glow of fluorescent specters, only to find ourselves wedged between now and nevermore.
Would you dare traverse this void?
A Lullaby of the Sky, a link to fleeting dreams.
What dreams may flutter upon broken wings in desire? Shall we sip the stilling nectar of the devil's brew? O sinister delight, encapsulated in fragile vials: