It was on a moonless night the raven cried; her words splintered in the depths beyond.
Beneath his breath, a man shorn by regret murmured tales of warriors forgotten by the sun's embrace.
Along the tarnished tides, she sails, seeking threads of shadow and shimmers where real bleeds silent.
She listens not, but feels the cold pageantry of whispers crying between the lattices.
In the remnants of mangrove and mist — holding secrets of passages unconventionally crossed — the tethered ghosts recreate babbling murmurs carried afar by reckless sinners.
What tries to unfold when darkness etches a point beyond clarity, where panes crack and hearts desecrate secrets not meant for eyes nor ears?