In the corridors of night, where echoes marry shadows, I drift in silence. An echo not of sound, but of forsaken dreams lies beneath these weary stars.
The tempest calls within iron bars of forgotten days. Shall I find mercy between its fury and shadow? No, mercy knows not my name—it dances away as ash aloft the barren air.
Have you seen them? The flickers beneath the moonlight shard? They whisper forsaken hymns and evade my eternal gaze.