Beneath the cathedral of stormy skies, where shadows yawn and the sun bleeds crimson, there dwells a symphony composed in silence. Each note etched in the air, only to be swallowed by the night’s tender grasp. In this void, a whisper echoes: the forgotten lullabies sung by moons long departed.
Through corridors of ivy and forgotten whispers, the ghostly violins weep. Their melodies, once vibrant, now shimmer like specters under the weight of sepulchral dust. Here, amidst the faded tapestries of twilight, the dreams linger—pale shadows against the canvas of a world forgotten.
In the realm of fading dreams, the unplayed symphonies reside; notes scrawled upon the parchment of stars, left to decompose beneath the watchful gaze of eternity. O, how they long to dance upon the lips of time, yet remain bound in the silence of their making.